"Of course," I murmur, savoring how her body unconsciously leans toward mine as we descend. "Heaven forbid anyone think the mighty Bryn capable of enjoying my company."
She snorts, but I catch theslight upturn of her lips. "Your silver tongue is as dangerous as your blade, Erik." Her fingers flex against my arm. "Though neither will win you what you seek."
"And what is it you think I seek?" I ask, guiding her past a cluster of watching Aesir.
Bryn turns those mesmerizing eyes to mine, challenge written in every line of her body. "You're playing a dangerous game." I feel her tense against me. "One you cannot win."
A smirk tugs at my lips. This isn’t something she—or I—can deny much longer. The tension between us is undeniable.
The music swells, and I turn to her. "Dance with me?"
Bryn's eyes narrow playfully. "A warrior and a dancer, silfrhár? You're full of surprises."
"Silfrhár?" I repeat, letting the word roll off my tongue. "Another insult, perhaps?"
She places her hand in mine, her touch sending electricity through my veins. "Silver hair," she translates with a teasing lilt. "Though perhaps I should call you grimmr instead—the masked one. Always hiding behind that stoic facade."
I pull her close, closer than proper but not enough for scandal. "Only you see through my facade," I murmur. "Though I've had centuries to perfect my waltz."
"We'll see who leads whom," she challenges, moving with deadly grace.
She fits against me perfectly as we move across the floor, her warrior's body betraying every denial her lips speak. Each shiver and caught breath when I pull her closer tells its own truth.
The music draws us together, her silk dress whispering against me. Her scent of winter winds and starlight floods my senses, making my head spin. When my thumb traces circles on her lower back, her breath catches, those mismatched eyes darkening as they meet mine. For a moment, her warrior mask slips, revealing raw hunger underneath.
"Be careful, silfrhár," she warns, voice husky as her nails dig into my shoulder. "Your control is slipping."
Christ,how I want to kiss her. To taste those lips again, that smirk up at me with such defiance. To show her exactly how much my control has already fractured. But I won't—can't—push her. Not here. Not yet. Even if every cell in my body screams to claim what's mine.
I spin her out, using the movement to put blessed space between us. But when she turns back into my arms, she's closer than before, her chest brushing against mine with each breath.
"My control?" I manage, voice rough as sand. "What about yours, little bird?"
Her pulse races beneath her skin, heat radiating between us as her pupils dilate, nearly swallowing the gold and blue of her irises.
"I don't know what you mean," she whispers unconvincingly, her gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.
Her fingers slide up my neck, sending heat through my veins. For a heartbeat, she leans in, her lips a whisper away from mine. The world narrows to this moment—the heat of her breath, the flutter of her lashes, the slight part of her lips.
But then she pulls back, reality crashing like a bucket of ice. Her hands drop from my shoulders as if burned, and she stumbles backward.
"I..." Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "Tell my sister I'm not feeling well." The warrior mask slips back into place, but her hands tremble slightly as she smooths her dress. "I'm retiring for the evening."
Before I can respond, she turns and practically flees toward the stairs, her white dress a beacon in the dim light. She doesn't look back, but the rigid set of her shoulders tells me everything—she's running from this, from us.
Fuck this. I know what I saw—what I felt.
My feet move before my mind catches up, carrying me after her retreating form. Her dress whispers against the crystal stairs as she practically runs, stumbling once in haste. I unleash my vampire speed the moment she rounds the corner at the landing, materializing before her.
She jerks back with a gasp, eyes flashing. "Don't pull that vampire shit with me." The words come out breathless as she sidesteps around me, her skirts brushing my legs.
I let her get as far as her chamber door, watch her fingers close around the handle. Then I'm behind her, pressing her against the solid wood, letting her feel every hard line of my body. My arms snake around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
A groan tears from her throat, and the scent of her arousal floods my senses. Her head falls back against my shoulder, even as her fingers tighten on the door handle like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
My lips brush the column of her throat, feeling her pulse thunder beneath the delicate skin. "Why fight this?" The words ghost across her flesh, drawing a shiver from her body. "This pull between us..." I drag my teeth—not fangs, not yet—along the sensitive spot below her ear. "It's consuming me, Bryn."
Her fingers clutch the door handle like an anchor, her knuckles white with tension. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she arches into me, her body betraying what her pride won't admit.
