“What the fuck?” I demand, my pique finally rising to the occasion.
Hazel eyes find mine, the shadows of the dark room almost caressing his high cheeks and strong straight nose. Moonlight glimmers in his gaze and brushes across his bearded chin, dripping down his body and highlighting the firm muscle etched across his arms, shoulders, chest, abdomen—fuck, he’s chiseled everywhere. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t honed and taut and ready.
I swallow thickly, my mouth growing dry as the moisture all at once evaporates from my tongue and pools…other places. Like he can read my mind or my face or whatever it is that’s giving me away right now, his smirk widens even more and he steps closer.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks smoothly, his eyes flicking from me to the stash of food spread across the counter behind me and then back again.
Riall’s lethal mien, the hint of danger and uncertainty that follows each of the Scorpions, is like a warm balm to my unease. The tightening in my chest unexpectedly loosens all at once, and I pull in a deep breath as though I haven’t been able to until now. Slowly I’m steeped in his presence, and everything inside of me that was tense with agitation and restlessness goes lax.
He’s the touch of chaos I’ve been craving, and that realization slaps me across the face hard.
I want to step back, to create distance between us, between my disconcerting thoughts and the uninvited reaction of my body to his sudden proximity. But the kitchen counter is already digging into my spine, and I don’t want to give Riall the satisfaction of knowing that he’s unnerved me beyond the surprise of finding him down here at this late hour.
“Fodder for good dreams,” I answer lamely, jutting my chin over my shoulder as though he hasn’t already cataloged every item I’ve pulled from their stores. “What are you doing down here?” I ask, refusing to cringe at the high-pitched accusation ringing in my tone.
Amusement glimmers in his eyes, and he reaches out to hand my knife back to me. I hesitate to take it right away, which only serves to make a quiet laugh rumble out of his wide, hard chest. My brow furrows with annoyance. He’s laughing at me. It’s obvious, and I’m giving him every reason to by acting like some wide-eyed, flustered simpleton. I clear my throat and reach out to snatch the knife from his palm. My fingers graze the warm calluses of his hand, and I fight off the shiver that wants to crawl up my back and down my arms.
“Fodder for good dreams,” he parrots back, only his eyes don’t stray to the contents of the counter behind me.
No.
They drop down my body, heatedly tracing the wrinkled tracks of my tunic and languidly regarding my bare legs and feet, before stroking back up and settling pointedly on my face. Desire spills from his stare, thick and hot, and I feel it everywhere despite my concentrated efforts not to.
It’s not the first time Riall has looked at me this way. I know the kind of games he likes to play, but why then is his needy gaze starting to tickle over me uncomfortably like an itch that desperately needs to be scratched? Why am I breathing harder and fighting the need to clench my thighs together for relief?
I’ve never had much of an issue with scratching pesky itches, but this is not the ludere, and Riall is not Leto. I don’t know if he’s safe. I don’t know where he stands. Riall studies me, his molten stare open and inviting. It’s as though his warm hazel eyes are brimming with all kinds of promises to chase every spec of my loneliness away. I try to dismiss it, to tell myself that these Scorpions are dangerous, that what feels like an itch could easily turn into a full-blown pox. I have no idea how they might perceive me simply satiating a carnal need. They seem concerningly possessive for reasons that escape me, and that can’t be a good thing. Fate doesn’t work for me like that.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again as I try to wrangle my conflicting thoughts.
“I warded the kitchen to alert me if you came down,” he tells me evenly as though it should be no great concern of mine.
“What? W-why?” I sputter, tightening my grip on the knife that’s once again in my possession.How in the stars did I not notice the ward?“Worried I’d rob you and take off in the night?” I accuse, happy to let outrage trickle in to help wash away the confusing desire that was rising with unwelcome fervor. “I gave Tarek my word. That may not mean anything to you Scorpions, but it means something to me.”
“Relax,” Riall coos at me, the amused smirk on his face annoying me even more than it usually does. “It’s none of that. Tarek keeps some ingredients in the cooler that might look edible, but they sure as shit aren’t.”
He leans closer to me, and my heart kicks up as his arm brushes mine. I hold my breath, suddenly unsure of what’s happening or what I’m even hoping will happen, when Riall pulls back a jar from my stash with a light green substance, now clutched in his hand.
“This might look like pickled cabbage, but I promise it’s not something you want to add to your late-night snack,” Riall reassures me, setting the jar of what I now suspect to be worms or maybe brains on a different counter far away from the rest of my hoard. He’s so tall, his arms so long, that he doesn’t even need to move away from me to do it.
“Oh,” I respond stupidly, just barely resisting the urge to step further away from whatever Tarek was saving in that jar.
Laughter dances in Riall’s hazel eyes, but he doesn’t let it loose. “I figured you might need some guidance for the next couple of days when it comes to what you might or might not want to be putting into your mouth.”
Heat once again pools low in my belly, and I’m no longer sure if we’re still talking about food. I try to glare at him, but the effect is ruined by the shuddering breath I pull in and the slight fidgeting I do before I put a stop to both. Riall steps even closer, as though he’s reading things written across my skin that I, myself, can’t see.
“Of course, if there’s anything else I can assist you with tonight,” he declares, his tone suddenly a deep whisper that speaks to parts of me that shouldn’t be awake in his presence, “all you have to do is ask.”
I want to close my eyes, float in the sensual tone of his tempting offer, which makes absolutely no sense, because this isn’t me. I don’t take risks like this or grow weak and simpering because of a pretty face that dares to hint at dark and delicious things in the deep of the night. And yet, here I am doing that very thing. I’m a handful of days free from the ludere, and already the person I thought I was is flying right out the window.
“Stop,” I demand, straightening my spine and fortifying my defenses against Riall’s allure.
I ignore the tingling of my fangs and the pang that starts in my belly that has nothing to do with food.
Riall’s ash brown eyebrow lifts, and somehow it makes him look both curious and defiant simultaneously. “Stop what, Beasty?”
“This,” I exclaim, gesturing between us and then around us as though the movement alone explains what I’m referring to.
Riall takes that as an invitation to move even closer. All at once, he’s barely a blade’s width away from me, and I try not to gulp down air as my heart takes off as though it’s being chased. He’s not touching me, but he’s close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. If I let myself, I could drown in the shadows that currently paint slashes over both of us in this dark kitchen, a kitchen that abruptly feels entirely too small. He stares at my throat for a beat, my racing pulse probably telling him all kinds of things I’d prefer to keep to myself, but I clamp my lips shut and fix my face with warning.
