It’s only then I realize my whole body is trembling.
I don’t want to sit in the silence of this dark empty room. Lying in that large bed with my serrated thoughts sounds like a nightmare. As I look up into Draven’s beautiful face, I nearly plead with him to stay, just until the sun rises. I want him to talkto me until the night bleeds, for his snarky, bratty company to distract me from this horrible night. It’s not that I need a guard as much as I really don’t want to be alone right now. It took until now to realize how much I trust him. The intensity of his gaze sharpens. Is it stupid for me to want him to dismiss his friends?
“Draven, are we continuing?” An alluring feminine voice calls to his back and he rolls his eyes at her voice, still facing me.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell Draven quickly, not letting myself entertain that weakness a moment longer. He straightens up, backing out of the doorway, hands in his pockets.
I shut the door and hear his friends’ voices rise in the living room as I collapse face down into bed. It sounds like they’re teasing him, but I hear only his response clearly: “Meeting’s over. Get out.”
16Shadow
The Four of Swords represents rest, refuge, and retreat. It may appear as a way of telling ourselves it’s time to breathe.
I FALL ASLEEP NEARLYthe moment my head hits the pillow. Most of the night passes in a blur of deep sleep and breaks where I huddle over the toilet. The third time it happens there’s a bucket sitting by it with a note that reads,Take it to your room so I don’t have to hear you vomiting all night.Annoyed, but simultaneously grateful, I bring it back to bed with me and am glad when I don’t need it.
When I wake up, sunshine blares through my curtains like streams of heavenly fire, my head pounding. I drag myself to the shower, and as I reenter my room, drying off, a gentle knock comes from outside my door. I stumble over to it, finding Draven standing at the threshold, a mug in his hands. He gives it to me and, grateful for caffeine, I take a huge gulp. Then heave when I realize it’s not coffee. I think it had a loose egg yolk somewhere in it.
“Swallow it,” he orders, and I choke it down. At my outrage he gives me a broad shit-eating smile. “Hangover cure.”
“I wanted coffee.” I hand it back, sputtering. He walks to the kitchen. I hesitantly follow, glancing around as if his friends will still be lurking out here. But the living room looks like it always does, though it’s odd observing it in what appears to be midmorning. I’m usually gone from dawn to dusk.
“They didn’t stay overnight.” He moves to the sink, filling the mug. He sets it between us on the peninsula countertop. “Hot or cold?”
“Water?”
“It’s about to be coffee.”
He doesn’t even blink and I wonder if he’s ever made any on his own before. The privileged prick just waits for my answer, fingers drumming on the counter.
“This ‘privileged prick’ is about to do a third nice thing for you within twenty-four hours. I like to think I’m being rather generous with you, love.”
“Cold. I think I’ll barf if it’s hot.” I try in vain to lift my mental wards.
He swipes his hand over the rim of the cup, the World card and the Magician floating out of his deck, and the water turns dark. He hands the mug to me. It’s sweet, flavored with caramel. I gulp it down gladly.
“Wow this is …”
“Delicious?” His eyes are trained on my mouth, his mouth coiling into a shit-eating grin.
“Pretty good, coming from you,” I correct. Don’t need him getting too full of himself, but he only chuckles. I furrow my brow. “I didn’t realize the Magician could transfigure food, too. And are you telling me you can make whatever foods you want but still complained that I ate that imported aioli?”
“That aioli is something I cannot bribe the creator into revealing the ingredients of.”
Draven leans against the counter as he watches me drink. My gaze travels the length of him. With all the curtains drawn he’s in his human form. His muscle definition is visible beneath his plain dark shirt, waist tight, arms and chest strong. There’s something appealing about his rolled sleeves and the clear pleasure he got in making me something. He scratches his cheek, the bones so lovely and defined.
“Plus, I doubt I could recreate it even with the ingredients. So, for now, I’d rather send her heaps of gold, even if I have to share it with you.”
“Well, good thing you have buckets of money then.” I don’t feel a modicum of guilt over his mighty sacrifice.
“So … last night …” Draven’s eyes flick to me, flashing an orange that only grows deeper.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” I’ll do anything to not talk about it, honestly.
He shifts on his feet, and I can tell he’s stuck between pushing it or relenting but doesn’t look away.
I heave a sigh, my tattoo prickling. Maybe it’ll be better to get this out. “Morgan wanted to get to you, so he thought he could do it by seducing and controlling me. Didn’t seem to like that I wasn’t interested. I don’t know the full extent of what’s going on with him. But he was bragging about being in the Ten Spires Clan.”
Draven listens raptly, bending a metal spoon in half as I quickly reel off Morgan’s moves and motivations. He deeply exhales, forcing calm, his eyes glancing off. “They’ve had some links with a new mortal rebellion.”
