“You’re retreating.”
“I don’t retreat.”
“No?” He shifted closer, barely an inch, but enough that I felt the heat of him through the leather separating us. “Then what do you call what you’re doing right now?”
My pulse hammered against my throat. “Strategic repositioning.”
His laugh was low and dark and did terrible things to my self-control. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“That’s what I’m calling it.” I planted my palm against his chest, intending to shove him back, to create space, to do literally anything that didn’t involve standing here drowning in sandalwood and mist.
“Your pulse is racing.”
“Because I’m angry.”
“Tell me, Isara. When you’re angry, do you usually lean closer?”
“You’re ridiculous,” I managed, shoving both hands against his chest.
He stumbled back a step. The bastard had let me push him, and the smirk curving his lips said he knew exactly what that admission would cost me.
“Architecturally sound,” he murmured, tracking my retreat. “Devastatingly so.”
“I hate you.” But the words came out breathless, ruined by the heat crawling up my neck.
“No, you don’t.”
And fuck him for being right.
I spun on my heel and stalked away from both him and the Veil, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The black fire writhed beneath my skin, restless and hungry, responding to either the barrier’s call or the way Varyth’s gaze felt like a brand between my shoulder blades.
Probably both.
Behind me, I heard him exhale, like he was trying to talk himself down from something. Then his footsteps moved away, heading back toward the scarred section of the Veil.
Good. Excellent. He could go commune with the realm-splitting barrier while I figured out how to breathe like a normal person again.
“That was fun to watch.” Darian had materialised beside me.
He stepped close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. He leaned in, his voice pitched low and absolutely dripping with mischief.
“So,” he whispered, that insufferable grin evident even in his tone. “Exactly how long were you two going to keep eye-fucking each other against the Veil before you remembered I existed?”
Heat flamed across my cheeks. “We were not.”
“Oh, you absolutely were.” His eyes danced with wicked delight. “I’ve seen less sexual tension in brothels. The way he was looking at you? Like he wanted to devour you whole. And you?—”
I shoved him. Hard.
Darian went sprawling backward into a cluster of thornbushes with a yelp of surprise, his arms windmilling as he tried to catch his balance. He landed in a tangle of brambles andcolourful curses, leaves in his hair and what was probably half the forest stuck to his leather armour.
“Ow! Violent female!” he called from the depths of the bush, though he was laughing. “I was just making conversation!”
“Make it somewhere else,” I growled, crossing my arms and refusing to feel guilty about the scratches I could see forming on his exposed skin.
From his position studying the Veil, Varyth glanced over. “Having trouble, Dariandralis?”
“Your female has anger management issues,” Darian called back, extricating himself from the thornbush with wounded dignity. “Just thought you should know.”
