Chapter Fifteen
Daciana
The festival sprawls before us like an image from a dream. Lanterns hang from every post and tree, their warm glow painting everything in shades of amber and gold. The air smells of roasted meat and sweet pastries, and everywhere I look, humans are laughing, dancing, living without the weight of survival crushing down on them.
“Come on,” Kieran says, his hand finding the small of my back. His palm is warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, his fingers splayed wide. “Let’s try everything.”
I glance up at him. “Everything?”
“Everything.” His eyes gleam playfully, a look I’ve never seen before from my mate. It transforms him, makes him seem younger despite the silver that highlights his dark hair.
We start at a game booth where children are throwing wooden balls at painted bottles. Kieran pays the vendor and hands me three balls. His fingers brush mine, lingering longer than necessary.
“I’ve never done this before,” I admit.
“I’ll teach you.” He moves behind me, his chest against my back, and guides my arm through the throwing motion. His breath tickles my ear. “See? Just like that.”
I throw. The ball sails wide, missing everything.
Kieran laughs—actually laughs—and the sound does something to my insides. “Maybe I’m not the best teacher.”
“Maybe I’m just terrible at this.” But I’m grinning as I say it.
He takes his turn, and of course his throw is perfect. Bottles crash down in a clatter of thick glass against wood. The vendor hands him a small, carved wolf, and Kieran immediately passes it to me.
“For you.”
I clutch it to my chest, warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the summer air. “My first prize.”
“The first of many.” His hand slides around my waist, thumb tracing small circles against my hip. It’s not overtly sexual, but it’s intimate. Claiming in a way that makes me feel warm inside.
We move through the festival like this, his touch a constant presence. When we stop at a food stall, his palm rests on the curve where my waist meets my hip. When we watch a fire-breather perform, his fingers toy with the ends of my hair. When we sample honey cakes, he wipes a crumb from my lip with his thumb, then brings it to his own mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re being very”—I search for the word as we walk—“tactile.”
“Does it bother you?” he asks, but his hand doesn’t move from where it is settled on my lower back, just above the swell of my backside.
“No.” My voice comes out breathier than expected. “I just…I’m not used to being touched like this.”
He stops and turns me to face him. Around us, the crowd flows like water past stones. “Like what?”
“Like I’m…” I struggle to articulate it. “Like I’m yours.”
A fierce look flashes across his face. “You are mine.” His hand slides higher, cupping my breast through my shirt right there in the middle of the festival. It’s quick, possessive, and completely inappropriate. Heat floods my face. “And I’m yours. If you want me.”
“I want you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He groans low in his throat and pulls me close. His lips find my temple, my cheek. “You’re going to be the death of me, Daciana.”
“Promises, promises,” I tease.
We keep moving, but the air between us is now charged. Every brush of his hand feels deliberate. When we reach a tent selling ribbons, he buys a deep red one and ties it around my wrist himself, his fingers lingering on my pulse point. When we pass through a narrow space between booths, his hand slides to my hip, pulling me against him so I feel every hard plane of his body.
“Kieran,” I whisper.
“I know.” His voice is rough. “I can smell you. Your arousal.”
Gods, this man.
