“Mm,” he hums, grinning slow. “And yet.”
His hand at my waist tightens just enough to pull me into the line of his body. Heat spikes through my veins, instant and bright, my breath hitching in a way that has him instantly tracking it. Like he knows it was because of him, and is itching to make me do it again.
“This isn’t the time,” I say, but my voice betrays me — not scolding, not even resisting. Breathless.
“No,” he agrees, and somehow makes that sound filthy. “It’s not. Which is why I’m being very, very good right now.”
“Good,” I echo, a little strangled. “That what we’re calling this?”
He smiles against my cheek. “For me?Absolutely.”
My fingers curl in his shirt without permission. His voice drops, all mockery gone. “Listen to me, Ember Calloway.”
Hearing my full name in his mouth like that does something low and molten to me.
“You’reoursnow,” he says. “That means you don’t walk into this thinking you’re bait. You don’t walk into this thinking you’re a contingency. You walk in like blood royalty. You walk in like the blade in Rook’s hand. Understood?”
My stomach flips. “Mateo—”
“Say yes.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes darken, satisfaction flashing like heat lightning. “Good girl.”
God. I hate how that works on me every time. I hate that it makes my knees feel weak and my spine feel straight at the same time.
He leans in then, finally, finally pressing his mouth to mine. It’s not soft. It’s definitely not sweet.
It’s slow, and deep, and hungry in a way that steals the thought right out of my head. His tongue slides against mine with lazy confidence, like he’s already mapped exactly how I like to be kissed and is just reminding me of it. His fingers tighten at my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I let him. I let him because I want to and I’m done pretending that I don’t.
When he pulls back, I’m breathing too fast.
He looks infuriatingly pleased with himself. “See?” he murmurs. “Not so scary.”
I swallow. “You’reveryannoying.”
He grins, teeth flashing. “And you’re very, very distracting, which is why I’m letting you go now before Rook walks around that corner and decides to put me through a wall.”
“Rook wouldn’t—”
He raises a brow.
I grimace. “Okay, he would. But he’s learning to share.”
“Mm, if you say so.” Vale dips his head, brushing one last slow kiss against the corner of my mouth. “Go train, little queen. Go sharpen your claws.”
He steps back.
I stay where I am for one beat longer than I should, catching my breath, pulse still hitting like a drum under my skin.
Then I push off the wall, straighten Rook’s shirt on my body, and head down the hall toward Ash’s wing — toward drills, toward prep, toward the first real move in a war that’s been circling us since the night they tore my life open.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m bracing to survive it.
I feel like I’m about to start it.
Chapter 41
