He was tall and striking, his dark brown hair tousled with a slight wave, causing it to fall in a flattering manner over his forehead. He had thick dark brows, and his eyes were the lightest shade of green I’d ever seen. His skin was smooth, nearly perfect, and his lips soft and inviting. He held a glass of a dark liquid, which I assumed was wine, in his left hand. A black jacket with beads that shimmered in the candlelight fit his lean figure. It must have been an heirloom, something from a century long passed. A cream-colored tunic hung loosely beneath his coat. I didn’t know what to think.
Was this him? The Aurkai who’d be training me today? He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but then again, none of them had been.
“Sotarenya.”
My hands trembled at the sound of his voice. It was smooth and rich, like a delectable chocolate I wanted to taste.
What was going on? And what did he say?
He was watching me intensely, his gaze gentle, yet focused.
My palms grew slick with sweat as he approached.
“It means beautiful,” he said, his voice merely above a whisper.
My heart pounded against my chest, anxiety stripping me of any social skills I thought I possessed.
I’d heard his thick accent before, but I couldn’t recall where. But I did recognize the word—it was Valyrian.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the leather couch. “Have a seat.”
I did as he said, sitting down and placing my hands on my lap. I focused on the fire, trying to control myself.
“My name is Malakai,” he said.
I smiled and nearly choked trying to speak because my throat was dry.
“I’m Anna,” I finally managed.
Damn. He was hot. I admitted it. But what the hell? There were a lot of hot guys here; Katie would be jealous. That shouldn’t equate to forgetting how to speak. Did he call me beautiful?
He sat down beside me, casually resting his foot over one knee. He propped one elbow against the top of the couch and turned toward me, still holding his glass of wine in his other hand.
“Do you find The Raven Room to your liking?” he asked, his accent something like Eastern European, but also smoother, like French, but still subtle enough that his English was perfect.
I nodded. “It’s cozy.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his wine.
“Are you taking Valyrian?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Can you say something?” he asked, his lips curved in a mischievous smirk.
I scoffed nervously, but he waited, watching me with amusement.
“Um, let’s see,” I muttered. “Nis ra drogoth eu aki.”
An impressed look flickered across his face.
“My apologies,” he said, setting his wine on the table.
He leaned toward me and released the button on my vest, which I wore over my shirt as part of my uniform.
I stopped breathing. His hands casually shifted the vest over one shoulder, and then down my arm, his hand sliding against me the entire way. He slipped it off my other arm too and tossed it over the couch.
He watched me with hooded eyes.
