On what looked like a hovering boulder with a flat surface—and which probably was some kind of nightstand—rested a large rock. I picked it up; it reminded me of pumice. It wasn't as heavy as it looked—not that it mattered right then, because my temper was flaring. I regretted it the moment the pumice thingy went flying through the air, straight for Zaph's head.
His reaction would have been comical had I not been torn between guilt and residual anger. There wasn't even a fraction of a second between the rock hitting him in the head—I'd never aimed that well in my life—and him being up, in a defensive pose, holding a sword—I had no idea wherethatcame from.
A small noise escaped me, something that was somewhere between an aborted giggle and a short cry of amazement for my own boldness. His head whipped toward me, "Did you throw a pumelagage at me?"
"Sorry?" I tried, moving my legs over the corner of the bed, careful to keep the sheet wrapped around me, unwilling to have him see that I had waited for him—naked.
"Is that a question or an apology?" He demanded, sheathing his sword in what seemed to be thin air by his side.
"It was what you deserved for breaking your promise," the words left me, sounding angry and petulant.
It was the wrong thing to say and definitely the wrong tone, because his astounded expression changed into the arrogant, self-assured look that always got me riled up.
"I apologize if I have left you… wanting." If anything, his smirk deepened, and amber sparkles moved through his eyes. Fascinated, I stared at them until his words penetrated my mind.
He hadn't left mewanting, as he put it. Well, he had in a way. I had never been that satisfied in my life, but I had also looked forward to… having him inside me. I felt myself blushing and noticed him noticing—damn him! He made me want to pick up that stupid rock and bang it repeatedly over his head this time. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing him the kind of effect he had on my temper. Instead, I reined it in, crossed my arms, clutched the sheet tighter around me like flimsy armor, and said, more accusation than anything else, “You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”
For a moment, something flickered in his expression—regret, maybe, or the echo of his own promise. But then the mask slammed back into place.
He kept his voice smooth as velvet. “You were not alone. I was here.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling a low burn in my stomach from newly arisen anger. He wanted to play games? Fine, we could play games. “I’m sorry,” I said, voice sweet as poison. “I shouldn’t antagonize you when you clearly weren’t up to keeping your promise.”
The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring him to pick it up. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or furious. The amber in his eyes glowed brighter,and more golden shadows curled at the edge of his aura. It still looked dangerous and unstable, like a whirlpool of the darkest red and black. And yet, when he stepped toward me, the only thing I felt was heat pooling low in my stomach and a wetness gathering between my thighs.
I hated myself for it. Not as much as him. But it was there.
“Careful, little star,” he murmured, the words more warning than tease. “You do not know what you ask for.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. “Then tell me. Show me. Because lying here wondering if you’ll touch me or if you’ll disappear again is worse.”
I couldn't believe I said that. What waswrongwith me?
His jaw flexed, a muscle ticked as though he was at war with himself. And maybe he was. The mighty, untouchable Zapharos, brought low not by an army but by one human woman and the chaos she ignited in him. Hah! Now that would make a book title.
I almost reached for him. Almost. But the air between us stretched like molten glass, and I didn’t know if the smallest touch would make it shatter or explode. His gaze sharpened, the sparks in his eyes dimmed into something heavier. The shift was so abrupt that my breath snagged.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Oh, for the love of—what? Now? First, he preached fate and Aelyth like some cosmic professor, then he vanished, then he came back only to… yeah, that. And now hewanted to talk? Was he bipolar or just hellbent on driving me insane?
The weight in his tone unnerved me, but hell if I’d let him see that. I lifted my chin. “Talk? Really? That’s your follow-up after disappearing for two days and breaking your promise?”
One dark brow arched, infuriatingly smug. “You noticed.” His mouth curved with deliberate slowness. “Did you miss me?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I cursed my traitorous tongue. I clutched the sheet tighter, praying it disguised the fact that my pulse was about to jackhammer out of my chest and, okay, yes, that I was getting wet. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
His smirk deepened. “So that’s a yes.”
“God, you are insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, stepping closer until the air itself seemed to bow around him, “you’re still here.”
His smirk lingered, like he wanted to keep playing this game, volleying words until I cracked first. But then it slipped, replaced by something quieter. He straightened, almost as if bracing himself, and the change in his eyes made my mouth go dry.
“We need to talk,” he repeated, heavier this time.
I folded my arms tighter, wrapping the sheet around me as if it could shield me. “About what? The Aelyth thing? Or the whole promise-you-didn’t-keep thing? Because I have notes.”
