Beside me, his fingers start to drift lazily over my hip, half-asleep, half-hunting. That kind of unconscious possessiveness men get after a long night and a good fuck. He shifts, just slightly—breath catching, grip tightening—like part of him already knows I’m thinking of leaving. Knows I’m always thinking of leaving.
I should pull away. I should get moving. But I don’t.
Because honestly?
I kind of like it.
“Mmm,” he rumbles as his hand slides over the swell of my breast, voice rough and frayed from too much wine last night. “You’re awake.”
Sliding over, I straddle him, my curls falling around us like a crimson veil, messy from sleep and sex. Beneath me, his legs part without hesitation, hands warm and rough against my skin as they settle on my thighs, like he’s trying to anchor me in place.
“Another round already?” Bren murmurs, eyes cracking open just as that cocky grin tugs at his mouth.
My lips curl as I glance down. He’s already hard. Poor guy, ever the hopeful optimist.
Then his gaze shifts, dragging over me, tracing the bare line of my skin with quiet, hopeful hunger, until our eyes meet. Light brown, warm and safe. His hair matches, cropped close and always neat, like someone who doesn’t have time for vanity. And that face, all those soft angles over strong bone. More boy next door than dark and brooding. The kind that makes old ladies smile and barmaids forget to charge him.
Too bad I know better.
“I’ll admit... while your stamina’s impressive…” I pause, leaning in to brush my mouth against the shell of his ear. “If only your personality could keep up.”
His grip on my thighs tightens as he throws his head back and laughs—unbothered, amused, like he lives for this kind of shit. And instead of backing off, his fingers just slide higher, lazy and shameless. But we’ve known each other since we were kids, which means I know exactly how to push his buttons.
I let him think he’s got me, just for one heartbeat. Just long enough to watch the heat spark in his eyes. Then I shift, fast and fluid, twisting off the bed in one clean motion. And for once, I don’t trip over my own damn feet. By the time he blinks, I’m already across the room.
Behind me, Bren groans. “No. No, no, don’t you dare Lyra, don’t leave me here like this.” His grin is all sin and stubble, but his voice goes boyish, playfully pleading. “We can make it quick?”
I toss him a wicked smile. “You’ve got two hands, knock yourself out.”
He’s good in bed, confident yet gentle and maddeningly skilled at finding all the right places. But that’s all he is, adistractionwith expert fingers and a dangerous body.
And right now, I can’t afford distractions.
Not today, not when I’ve got a warded border to cross—one wrong move and I’m dead. I’ve got Spice to pick up, traders to catch before they vanish, and Ash-dried Dragon Scale to steal from under their noses, without losing mine. All while pretending the magic under my skin isn’t about to blow a hole through me.
The familiar pressure's been building all night.
And it wantsout.
I grab my pack, fingers skimming across the outside, checking its weight and contents. Good, everything’s still where it should be. Then I snatch my trousers from where they’re half-draped over Bren’s mirror, nearly knocking the damn thing over in the process, and catch him watching me in the reflection.
Sheets slung low on his hips, drawing the eye to the deep V of muscle that disappears beneath. “Spice run?” he asks, eyes narrowing on me.
I zip up. “What else?”
“Over the border again? Lyra, the patrols are doubling. People are disappearing. There’s even talk of dragons breaching the Innerland Veils… The Citadel’s spooked.”
I try to shrug it off, but it doesn’t land right. “They haven’t caught me yet...”
“Yet?” he echoes, this time his voice has teeth and my stomach knots.
I’m not stupid, I know he’s right, and it’s only a matter of time. And when that happens... A shiver traces down my spinebefore I can stop it, well... let's just say I’d rather not think about that right now.
“It’s today or never.” I look back at him. “You know that.”
Bren shifts from the bed, muttering something under his breath about how I never listen, but a second later he’s behind me. Arms slipping around my waist, rough palms brushing my stomach. Every inch of him is pressed up against me, all heat and muscle wound tight.
“You sure?” he asks. “Could just crawl back into bed.” His fingers pause just beneath my breasts as our eyes meet in the mirror and the smile that follows is pure trouble. “Those eyes,” he murmurs, bending down just enough to brush a kiss to my bare shoulder. “Mmm. Green like witch-fire.”
