He has fangs. Huh. Those are new.
"What?"he roars.
I tip my head. "Do all blood fae have retracting fangs? That's?—"
"What do you mean, someonemanipulatedyou into bed? Who the fuck did that to you?"
In the flickering firelight with fury and shadows dancing on his face, with pointed ears, eyes red as blood, and gleaming fangs, he truly does look like the descendant of a monster, primed and ready to kill.
Utterly gorgeous.
But such a hypocrite. As if he has the right to get mad on my behalf.
"You did," I point out coldly. "Scútráche."
That's a fae insult that Lillian accidentally taught me when she was ranting about my father one day. She was scandalized when I repeated it later. It's quite a severe insult regarding overdrinking and the size of one's penis, plus a sprinkling of family shame that the fae abhor.
That takes Silas aback. He drags both hands through his hair, tugging and mussing the curls as he takes a deep breath to calm down. When he speaks again, the fangs are nowhere to be found.
"No. I wasn't manipulating you. None of us were." He looks at me, vulnerability replacing the fury and softening his features. "I made that bet because there's something I needed. It only hinged on you because wanting you is the only thing we four have ever shared."
I recall what he mentioned in the Matched Ball and arch a brow. "This thing you needed. Was it the Frost ledgers or the dragon scales?"
Silas opens his mouth, closes it, and looks away with a sigh.
He's probably not sharing because he doesn't trust me. That's understandable, but it's still irritating that he won't tell me why it was crucial for him to win a bet where nailing me was the determining factor. So although his help with tracking down Kenzie and the changeling would be great, I decide I'll handle shit on my own instead of putting up with this.
I turn to leave, but Silas holds up an arm to stop me.
"Stay."
"Make me."
Silas's jaw clenches, and then he does the last thing I expect.
He gets on his knees.
10
MAVEN
SeeingSilas on his knees immediately does something to me. Something that heats my entire body.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere until you know how truly sorry I am that you ever had reason to doubt my motivation for being with you," he murmurs, gazing up at me. "I need you to forgive me, Maven."
It's far too warm in here. I can't seem to think straight as I stare down at the sharply dressed blood fae in front of me, whose intense, blood-red, pleading focus is all on me.
It's…heady.
"You want my forgiveness?" I whisper. "Fine. Beg for it."
"Please—"
I drop the blanket and slide my lace-gloved hand over his mouth to muffle him, tingles spreading as I feel the warmth of his lips through the thin fabric. Something has come over me—I'm mad, but…I also need this. This power over him. I want it enough that I ignore the shiver down my spine at touching someone else, even through lace.
"No. Your mouth can do better than that. Beg me without words, Silas."
His red gaze flares with hunger, devouring my body and lingering on my toplessness before stopping at the apex of my thighs. A thrill spreads from my hand to my chest when he licks his lips slowly, his tongue brushing against the fabric on my palm. I remove my hand, feeling nearly lightheaded when Silas immediately presses me back until the backs of my knees hit the fainting couch—and then I'm seated, and he's kneeling between my legs.
