So first, Brand had to find the courage to introduce himself.
Brand’s bootspounded a staccato rhythm against the flagstones, each jagged breath too damned loud in his ears.
At least the few people around must’ve sensed he was in no mood to be distracted, veering out of his way and giving him plenty of room to stomp by.
Maybe it was the incurable scowl twisting his face that did it.
He paused before the closed doors to the great hall. Staring at the ancient sea serpents carved there, locked in battle with whichever Demon was king at the time, Brand forced his breathing to slow. Begged his pounding heart to calm down. Tugged on the collar of his tunic.
The warriors either side ignored him completely, dutifully keeping their gazes straight ahead as they waited for his command—thank the Sisters for small mercies.
Lyriat had requested Lunara’s early presence to discuss her payment. Of course, Brand had only made his less-than-daring escape after hearing her agreement. So, she was either already in there, or would be soon.
He had to apologize for his poor manners, if nothing else. He hadn’t been a charming Imperial, or a cunning ambassador, or a mighty commander.
He’d been a complete twit.
At his nod, the guards threw the doors wide. Servants were readying the hall for breakfast, scattering every which way intheir rush around the dozens of tables that had been added back since last night.
Still, it was easy to spot her.
She was the only stillness amidst the chaos, and the sight stopped him in his tracks.
Stars above, Lunara was even more beautiful in the daytime. A soft lilac dress managed to both cover and cling to her, hiding everything and nothing at once. Only her shoulders and collarbone were exposed, and sunlight shone down upon the opalescent expanse of her perfect skin, rainbow flakes glittering just beneath the pale surface.
All Nachthellians shared the feature regardless of their coloring but, on her, it was exquisite. And that hair. He could admit, at least to himself, that he was utterly obsessed with it.
And yet, he had to choke back the laugh that tried to spring free. Such an otherworldly creature, but he’d found her flattened against a window, palms and face pressed to the glass as if she could force her body through nose first. Her wide eyes were unblinking, seemingly caught in the throes of a deep trance. Shite, she didn’t even breathe.
The bizarre moment buoyed him, curiosity demanding he see whatever she was so fixated on, and it was all the push he needed to close the distance and sidle up behind her.
Only inches separated them, but she didn’t notice, and Brand was too caught up in her scent to announce himself. In amber and spice and… moonlight?
Standing there bathed in summer sunshine, she somehow evoked images of the rising twin moons. Of balmy breezes and swaying blooms beneath the gloaming. Of dreams and soft warmth.
So much damned warmth.
Lunara. Luna. A living, breathing little moon.
Brand blinked, fighting the urge to rub an errant lock of her hair between his fingers, and shook himself before gently clearing his throat.
A screeching yelp was his only warning, and Brand barely dodged the tiny fist that emerged from a panicked blur of curls and swirling silk.
“Shite,” he rasped, hands snapping out to catch her before she could hit the groundagain.
And, for the second time since she’d arrived, he forgot the part where he was supposed to release her.
“Oh, my stars! I am so sorry, Your Highness!” Lunara gaped at him, both hands plastered to her face.
Wet with tears.
Something strange happened then—a tiny splintering within himself. The shine of those crystalline drops, the tracks they’d left behind… Brand’s heart stuttered, and fury replaced its beating entirely.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” The words came out as a murmur, but only because he had just enough sanity left to know that anything else would frighten her.
His fangs began to lengthen, a fire tracing itself over his skin and drawing heat from the earth to empower his change. Brand gritted his teeth against the looming rage, dragging in a deep breath to calm himself even as his grip tightened ever so slightly.
Shite, he was still holding her.
