“To know what you’re missing.” Carver’s eyes fell to her mouth again and stayed. “To know what it’s like.”
Something in his voice changed, sending a tingle of warmth along her spine. Her eyes widened as he slowly lifted his hand and gently gripped her neck, his palm big, his fingers light. Heat suffused her. He pressed a little, and her breath shortened. Watching her, he didn’t let go as he swept his work-roughenedthumb along her jawbone. Sensation jolted through her—hot, twisty tension mixed withwhat in all the gods?
His gaze held hers, and her mouth went as dry as a fire-charred bone. What was this? She and Carver didn’t touch. They didn’t have tender moments. She might be far too fascinated by his perpetually naked chest, but her thoughts didn’t stray farther, because she liked what they were right now—partners and allies who drove each other to insults and violence.
“Bel?” He leaned in, his grip still light on her neck. “Well?” Carver’s eyes moved over her face, seeming to try to gauge her reaction. She didn’t know what he saw, but he started to close the distance between them, and her heart leaped right out of her chest. Panic roared in her blood, and magic surged through her so violently it crossed her skin and burst out.
Carver reared back before his lips even touched hers, letting out a curse the dead could probably hear in the Underworld. He lurched to his feet and sprinted toward the ocean. He dove in, raising steam where he split the waves and disappeared.
Bellanca gasped. She jumped up, her pulse pounding so hard it left her shaking. Carver popped up for air, then went back underwater before she could shout out to him. She scrambled down the beach. A moment later, he stood and trudged back up the shore. Dripping wet and spitting mad, he glared at her.
She stopped short, curling her hot hands into fists. “Sorry.” Scorching blood beat against the barrier of her skin. “I’m sorry.” That sun-flare heat, the same new magic as inside the cavern, built inside her again, ready to burst out, and she took a hasty step back.
“No,I’msorry,” Carver bit out, his wet tunic and pants clinging to his tall, hard body. Her magic had left the material pockmarked with ragged little burns. She’d singed the hair around his face, especially his brows and lashes, and his skin looked sunburned.
“I don’t know what happened,” she croaked out. This magic was unfamiliar and new. She didn’t know how to detect it fast enough inside her yet—or how to truly control it.
“I do.” A wry smile twisted Carver’s mouth. He shook his head, his eyes savage. “As far as defending herself against unwanted advances, at least I know myfake wifehas everything well in hand.” He bent, grabbed his boots, and headed up the beach away from her.
Bellanca gaped after him. What in the almighty gods just happened?
Carver stalked toward the hillside path that would take him back into the city. He didn’t turn around once, and her heart hammered so ferociously it beat louder than the waves.
***
Still in shock over Carver’s odd behavior—well, anger and mood swings were no surprise, but an attempted kiss was completely unexpected—Bellanca slipped into their lodgings and hurried to her room to wash up before dinner. Carver’s door was shut. He hadn’t lit any lamps. She didn’t even know if he was there, but she hoped so.
Where would he have gone otherwise? A tavern? Worry flared inside her. That wouldn’t be good, considering his lack of control around wine when he was unhappy. On a scouting mission without her? No, that would just be stupid.Good gods, a brothel?
Her heart pitched sharply, scenes popping into her head she’d never taken part in but still knew about. Who didn’t? She wasn’t a child. She’d lived with anarmy. She’d seen Pan and his herd indulging in an orgy just days ago. Innocence was long gone in more ways than she could count, even if she was a virgin. Carver wasn’t. She’d already known that. And he’d neveralluded to anything like brothel-going, at least not with her, but now that she’d raised the thought, her mind wouldn’t shut up about it.
She bit her lip, tasting sea salt and her own cherry-sweet magic. Is that what Carver would’ve tasted? And did he really want to kiss her? Since when? Why? Was hethatlonely?
Her heart lurched again. Gods, she hated that feeling.
Questions whirled in her head as she began her evening routine, blocking the drain in the bottom of her almost adult-sized bathing tub and then unblocking the pipe leading from their rooftop barrels. Hot water was never a problem, althoughenoughwater occasionally could be. Sometimes, it was too hot. Right now, she could use the cooling down, but the ever-predictable Atlantian sun had left the water close to scorching.
Despite the uncomfortable heat, Bellanca slipped off her dress and hopped into the basin as it filled, pulling her knees up to fit into the tight space. She started washing when it was only half full, scrubbing until her soap foamed enough to cover her skin with frothy, almond-scented bubbles. She didn’t want to look at her body any longer than she had to, all pale and scarred and practically shapeless. She’d never imagined anyone else wanting to look at it, either, and usually avoided even thinking about another person seeing her naked and vulnerable. She could face just about anything head-on, but there were some situations where avoidance seemed infinitely better than failure. Intimacy topped that list. And didn’t intimacy start with kissing?
She felt Carver’s hand on her neck again, his thumb on her jaw, his breath warming her lips.
And then she’d panicked andburnedhim.
Scowling, she attacked her hair next, the red turning almost brown as she wet it and lathered. She rinsed and did it all again from top to bottom, but there was no washing away thedistressing recollection of that awful look on his face when he’d stormed off earlier.
Would she have ever initiated a kiss? She couldn’t even imagine doing that. But did she hate that he’d tried?
Slamming her soap down on the little table beside her, she squeezed her eyes shut, barely breathing. The horrible feeling churning inside her ever since Carver had walked away from her had sunk so deep it was everywhere. She could rub herself raw, and it would still be there, twisting in her stomach.
Sometimes, Carver needed to nudge her into things she wouldn’t consider on her own, but she didn’t like the idea of him confusing loneliness with a sudden interest in kissing her, especially with the memory of Konstantina always hovering so close. And touch wasn’t something she was used to. She’d learned to flee it as a child because it usually meant someone would leave a bruise, a cut, or a burn on her. She knew Carver wouldn’t, but that didn’t magically fix her gut reaction, especially when he’d surprised her.
She stopped the flow from the rooftop barrels, dunked, and rinsed, contorting to keep her head under the water as she shook soap out of her hair. With her eyes closed and wet silence all around her, the feel of Carver leaning toward her on the beach sharpened, jolting her senses all over again.
She popped up, slicked her hair back, and breathed. She opened her eyes, but all she could see were Carver’s—hot, liquid metal and then…wounded. Betrayed.
A knot in her chest, she leaned her head against the edge of the tub and stared out the open window. The sky was that rich, textured blue-black of impending nightfall. One bright star winked at her, taunting. Was it happy, up there in the cosmos, looking down at humans and watching them fumble through their lifetimes?
Because that was what it felt like she was doing. Fumbling.
