Could be.
Curiosity gnawed at me, but I swallowed it. Just for tonight.
I switched off my bedside lamp, the room sinking into darkness, and pulled the blanket over my head, sealing myself away from the pull of his presence.
And from the sound of the shower running outside my door.
I was slowly getting used to waking up to the smell of his food. The moment the scent drifted into my head, I shoved my feet into my slippers and tried not to sprint downstairs after a quick stop in the bathroom. I hit the last step and turned towards the kitchen.
Thrax was standing there, sleeves rolled up, setting plates down. My gaze snagged on his hands, the same hands that had once held a dagger to my nipple and wrapped around my throat.
My gaze fell to his exposed forearms, my stomach coming to life at the sight. Veins curled beneath the skin like shifting lines of a map, and for some reason, my pulse went straight between my legs, beating like a feral animal.
He caught me looking. Of course he did.
“If you’re going to ogle me,” he said, tilting his head towards the stool, “you might as well get a front seat.”
The smugness in his voice was gasoline to my already burning thoughts. Clearing my throat, I tore my eyes away and walked over, pretending butterflies weren’t going wild just because I got to see him, unlike the day before. I took a seat directly across from him, and he leaned on the counter, hands braced wide apart, watching me like I was the only thing in the room worth his attention.
Well, I was the onlythingaround here anyway.
This was his routine. Watching me eat. And hell would freeze over before I got used to the feeling of his eyes on me.
I picked up the spoon. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“You’d be shocked.”
I flicked my eyes up at him—and regretted it. Thrax’s hair was mussed in a way that was nothing short of seductive, calling my fingers to it. I cleared my throat. “That what?”
“This,” he said, without missing a beat, “is my favourite thing to do.”
I paused mid-breath, heat sliding up my neck, because the way he held my eyes made me feel like he wasn’t talking about the food at all. My chest thudded against my ribs.
I was about to throw some snark at him when something caught my attention, my chest giving out. There were red claw marks, thin and angry, peeking from under the collar of his shirt.
They hadn’t been there yesterday in the library. I would have noticed otherwise.
I was out of my seat, leaning over the counter, my hand brushing his skin, fingertips traced one of the marks, following it down the curve of his neck when I realised what I was doing. The moment I felt his heat, I froze, but didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
My gaze lifted to his eyes to see he was already staring at me, and those eyes were darker than they had been a second ago. He was still,too still, under my touch. My eyes betrayed me, wandering fromhis gaze to the hard line of his nose, then down to his mouth—the same mouth that always whispered sin into my bloodstream—and lower still, to the bob of his Adam’s apple that I fascinated.
I swallowed, my voice coming out quiet. “What happened here?”
I ran my fingertip down one of the red lines, following it towards his shoulder.
His jaw tightened, body visibly stiffening. “What are you doing?”
“Was this last night?” I asked, ignoring his question. It couldn’t be. The marks looked healed, like they were older than a week, which only made me want to know more because they weren’t there yesterday.
I let my hand fall away as I sat, but not without feeling the ghost of his heat linger on my palm. “What did that to you?”
He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets as his chest expanded with a sharp intake of air. “Is that your question for the day?”
“Can’t I ask a free one?” I dug into the food he’d made, and the taste hit my tongue like it had been crafted to ruin me. A blissful sigh almost slipped past my lips. Would I ever get used to anything that concerned this man? “Besides, I didn’t ask anything yesterday. That means I get two.”
He gave a slow nod.
