“I thought bad ideas were your bread and butter,” he replies nonchalantly. “What’s one more to add to the list of many?”
I’m pretty sure that’s a dig at my butter knives, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now than defending that decision,again, so I begrudgingly let it slide.
“I don’t dance,” I argue, plastering a fake smile on my face as I look around at everyone watching and try not to spiral. “And that’s not my mulish nature talking, I can’t. I have no idea how to do this,” I squeak, gesturing between us.
His hard features thaw infinitesimally. “If you can fight, you can dance,” he assures me, but it’s not comforting in the slightest.
Pretty sure if I haul off and hit him, The Horde will hang my entrails from the beasts decorating the columns of this ballroom.
Shit! The butterflies!
I can’t let him get near me, or these drakes are going to have my head!
“Treat me like an opponent,” Aeson encourages, oblivious to my newfound dread. “Mirror me like you’re trying to get a feel for my fighting rhythm and stance, and then counter my moves. I step forward, you counter by stepping back. I step to the side, you follow. I’ll tell you with my hands and arms where I want you to go. All you have to do is follow.”
“And that’s where we have a problem,” I start, but music suddenly fills the air and there’s no more time to argue.
Aeson bows and then he steps toward me. I do exactly as he said and instantly step back, countering his move. A smirk cracks the facade of the commander’s stony mask.
“I need to be touching you before you start mirroring my steps,” he tells me, like I misunderstood his initial instructions.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I know how it works. But you can’t come any closer.”
Ignoring my warning, Aeson advances, and once again I dodge him.
“Claws,” he rumbles in warning. “Stop running.”
“I’m not running. I’m keeping you from being attacked by my dress and me from being mobbed by The Horde for hurting their precious scion.”
“I can handle your sharp edges, Claws. Now be still before you set off my prey drive and we give the audience a very different kind of show.”
I trap a whimper in my throat as his words crackle through me like an electrical current intent on lighting up every cell in my body.
“Aeson,” I contend as he draws closer. But I don’t move. “I’ll cut you. I’ll destroy your suit. I’ll hurt you,” I plead for him to listen, but I don’t know if I’m still talking about the butterflies or if I’m warning him about…me.
His features darken with desire, and his eyes flare with intent as they drink me in, but he doesn’t stop walking toward me, like he’s all too ready to breach the last of my defenses.
“Cut me. Hurt me. Destroy me. I’ll happily bleed for you, Ever. Every drop is yours already.”
And then he’s in front of me, pulling me against his chest. His palm presses against the small of my back while the other wraps around my hand. The butterflies converge, tearing his suit and slashing at his hands. Gasps and murmurs ring out around us, but Aeson doesn’t even flinch, his blazing gaze steadily fixed on mine. He gives me a second to adjust to the press of his body against mine, while razor sharp wings do their worst. And then Aeson starts to lead me, and for once, I follow.
He breathes me in deeply and holds me like a newly discovered treasure that he has no intention of ever letting go. I get lost in the feel of his body guiding mine as we stride and spin across the dance floor, his bright blue eyes tugging on the tethers between us until the lines blur where he ends and I begin.
Is this the bond?
Is this what surrendercouldfeel like?
A butterfly slashes across his cheek, and I tense and try to pull away, but I only manage to put a few inches between us before he stops me.
“I’m ready for my answers now,” he tells me, his voice low and paved with gravel. Sensing my immediate hesitation, he strokes a thumb up my spine and holds me tighter. “We’ll do this all night until I’m either a pile of bloody ribbons on the ground or you’ve answered my questions.”
Distress crashes into dismay as they both rush to the forefront of my mind. Another butterfly draws blood through a cut on the arm of his suit, but I find myself suddenly less bothered by his plight.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’d like a few answers myself.”
Aeson raises a single eyebrow, the look on his face an invitation and a challenge.
“Why didn’t you tell me that we’d formed a bond?” I start, cutting right to the quick.
