She didn’t realize tears had started sliding down her cheeks until he twisted to face her and his emotions—which were intense and hard to read—became even more tangled. His hand settled against the side of her neck, fingers curling gentlyagainst her nape, his thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. “Sweetheart,” he said on a rasping exhale.
But she wasn’t done. Blinking through her tears she said, “I love you, Carver Vincetti. Every strong, scarred, and infinitely beautiful part of you.”
Carver’s grip tightened. He was overwhelmed. His emotions were churning; surprise, love, disbelief, awe, appreciation, and a desperate, rising need. He leaned in and began kissing away each tear, just as tenderly as she had kissed his scarred back. Then he was cradling her face in his hands, and he was kissing her lips with infinite gentleness.
His lips were salty from her tears, his mouth warm and coaxing. Her hands slid up his muscled arms, over his broad shoulders, up his strong neck, and plunged into his thick hair. She pulled him closer—or perhaps she was pulling herself into him. She couldn’t get close enough. As their mouths slanted, changing the angle of the kiss, she was hardly aware of the fact that one of his arms had lowered and now encircled her back. He tugged her into his lap, and their chests rose and fell against each other.
A sharp knocking on the door made Amryn jerk, breaking off their kiss. Carver groaned and instantly pulled her back. “They’ll go away,” he said against her lips.
The knocking came again, harsher than before. Cregon Vincetti’s voice rang through the door. “Carver? I’m breaking down this door if you don’t open it right now.”
Amryn’s eyes flew wide. She scrambled off Carver’s lap so quickly she would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.
“Just a moment!” he called out, his hands tightening around her hips. Carver was breathless, and she got a surge of feminine satisfaction from that. But the fact that his father stood on the other side of the door made her painfully aware that her hair was wild, her eyes were probably as red as her cheeks, she had swollen lips, and her nightdress was askew as she sat on a rumpled bed. Not to mention Carver was shirtless and his hair was standing straight up in places where her fingers had explored.
Carver rose, then looked down at her on the bed. Frustration gripped him hard, but when his eyes settled on her, the desire he’d felt only moments ago leapt to new heights. He cursed softly. “I swear the Scorched Plains are easier to bear than this.”
She ran a self-conscious hand over her riotous curls. “Sorry?” she said, the soft word coming out more as a question because she wasn’t exactly sure what she was apologizing for.
Carver’s eyes heated. “You have absolutely no reason to apologize.”
“Carver?” Cregon called impatiently through the door. “Open the door.Now.”
“I’m coming!” Carver yelled back. He glanced down at her, then grabbed the edge of the discarded sheet. He drew it up to her lap, covered her legs. Then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’msorry my father has rotten timing.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond before he turned on his bare heel and marched to the door.
He twisted the lock and yanked the door open, though he blocked the opening with his body. “Amryn is still in bed,” he said. “We can talk in the hall.”
“No,” Cregon bit out, nearly bristling with a potent mix of anger and fear. “I need to search your room.”
Amryn’s hands fisted around the sheet. Her eyes instinctively darted to the corner of the room where she’d hidden the bloodstone and Saul Von’s journal. Could he know she had them? Could he have learned she was an empath? She couldn’t see behind his warrior’s bulk to know if someone else was in the hall. She didn’t sense Rhone, but panic was making it hard to discern anything beyond Cregon’s blistering emotions.
“Why?” Carver demanded, his scarred back rigid.
Cregon looked past Carver, and his eyes landed on Amryn. The High General of Craethen’s jaw hardened.
Amryn’s lungs seized. She suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Cregon’s voice was low and dark as he said, “Ivan Baranov was attacked by assassins earlier this morning. We need to make sure you and Amryn aren’t in danger.”
Chapter 52
Carver
Carverwasn’tsurprisedwhena search of the room proved there were no assassins lying in wait, but he couldn’t shrug off the tension that had coiled in his shoulders.
Ivan had been attacked in the gardens during an early morning run. Apparently, it was a routine he’d taken up shortly after they’d arrived in Zagrev. Two assassins had ambushed him in one of the more isolated corners of the garden.
They may have outnumbered Ivan, but they had certainly underestimated him.
“He killed the first attacker and planned to capture the second so we could question him,” Cregon explained, his expression grim. “But the assassin managed to slice open Ivan’s arm. The moment dizziness hit, he knew the blade must have been poisoned.”
Amryn sucked in a breath.
“He’s all right,” Cregon reassured her. “He had just enough time to . . .persuadethe assassin to tell him the name of the poison before he killed the man. Thankfully, it was a well-known poison, and the physicians had the antidote on hand. He’s recovering in his room now.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I heard about the attack the moment I arrived at the palace. I ran here to make sure you and Amryn were safe, and I sent others to check on the other Chosen.”
A precaution, but one that needed to be taken. Carver’s skin itched beneath the shirt he’d tugged on. “If we’re right,” he said, “and these assassins are being hired by the Brotherhood, we need to take them down. Now.”
