There’s no doubt in my mind that EmberdespisesDagon, yet she’s in quite the hurry to return to him. “What does he have on you?” I ask for the second time.
It’s not the life of her father; he died from liver failure a few years ago, not long after Ember dropped off the face of the earth. Before I could get the answers I needed from him.
She turns her head away. I let the topic lie, for now.
“Do you like to be the big spoon or little spoon?”
“If you touch me, I will bite out your fucking jugular,” she says flatly.
“Kinky. I like it.” It would probably be safest to knock her out… if I leave her awake, she’ll doubtlessly try some shit.
Which will give me an excellent reason to think up a phenomenally creative punishment for her once we get back to the Nighthawks’ fortress.
“I’ll be the big spoon,” I decide. Frankly, the idea of holding her until she falls asleep ismouthwatering. There was a time where I assumed Ember would be the only woman Ieverheld, all night every night.
Unfortunately, I never got to enact that fantasy before my world shattered, and the one person I always thought I could depend on vanished.
“Are we clear on the rules?” I ask her, stripping off my pants. She pointedly averts her gaze, looking at the wallpaper as if it holds the answer to all of life’s problems.
“Ember,” I prompt when she doesn’t respond.
She licks her lips, cheeks painting a lovely red color. “Yes.”
I don’t know if she realizes just how breathy the word sounds. Or how utterly fucked I am—and not in the way I want to be.
My lifelong fantasy is mostly naked and bound on a bed in front of me. This is the start tosomany fun scenes… except I can’t engage in them. At least for now, I have to keep my cool.
Tomorrow night, we’ll get to the fortress, safe and sound.Then,I can focus on my new objective.
First: fucking Ember until she forgets that she wants to escape.
Second: killing Dagon as slowly and painfully as possible.
I slip into bed beside her. Her breath hitches, and her breasts rise up. While I’d love to take this opportunity to make her blush in places she didn’t even know she could blush in, I settle for flipping her onto theside, arranging pillows to take the pressure off her wrists, and sliding my hand over her flat belly.
She exhales a long, shuddering breath. With it, a noise escapes her—it takes me a moment to realize it’s awhimper.
Not one of fear, and not exactly one of arousal.
“Ember,” I say slowly, stroking my thumb over her skin. “You’re trembling, Flame.”
She audibly swallows. “I haven’t been touched in…” she trails off. “Not for anything that didn’t involve some measure of pain.”
My heart just aboutshattersin my chest. Ember was never the cuddliest person, but she was accustomed to physical touch. We hugged all the time. When I went through my man-bun phase, she delighted in braiding my hair.
Now, being spooned is enough to make her tremble. Not fromfear, but fromneglect.
I’ve fucked, cuddled, and chucked plenty of women in the last five years. Well, cuddling was actually pretty rare, but it was always available. Even after the destruction of my world, I lived my life. Admittedly, I didn’t live it in the healthiest way—I became a fucking assassin, after all—but at least I got to experience it.
What has my Little Flame experienced that made her so…jaded? The brightness and vivacity that used to cling to her like a perfume is gone, replaced by suspicion and detachment.
I wantmyEmber back. And I’ll fucking find her. She’s still inthisEmber’s chest, somewhere. I’ll dig deep until I’m able to retrieve her.
“Sleep, Flame,” I say quietly.I’ll figure out all the bullshit once we’re both better-rested.
I wake up in the evening, feeling rejuvenated. Ember’s still in my arms, her breathing slow and rhythmic, chest rising and falling.
She didn’t escape—didn’t even try to. If she had, I’d have felt it and woken up.
