He’s waiting. Waiting for me.
Because of his promise. His promise not to force himself on me.
Bastard that he is, he’ll lead me to the moment, he’ll tease me mercilessly until I’m frantically aching for him, only to wait for me to make the first move. What I wouldn’t give to push him off the balcony right now.
His chuckle echoes in my mind.I can fly, darling human, he says down the tether.
Get out of my head!I reply, heat burning my face.
He smirks, and damn if that doesn’t make his mouth look more inviting.
Before I can lose my nerve, I surge forward, pressing my lips to his.
And that’s all it takes, just one moment against his mouth, one moment of pressure, and he becomes a ravenous participant. His fingers delve into my hair, holding my head in place, driving his tongue into mine with a savage, frantic growl.
The kiss is not gentle. It’s fueled by frustration and fury, longing and desperation.
His lips are cold at first, a shock against mine, hard as ice. But as the kiss deepens, passion flares between us, dangerous and full of promise, and he becomeswarmer. It takes my breath away. I find myself grasping at his shirt just because I need something to hold onto, something to anchor me in place during this unequivocally reckless act.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and his hands tighten in my hair. He tastes like peppermint and cinnamon with a hint of whiskey. His lusty growls vibrate through me, and I whimper into his mouth. Dizziness assails me. If he weren’t pressing me to the bed, I would sway to the floor. In all my life, my knees have never felt so weak, my entire body trembling with need.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are darker, more intense than I’ve ever seen.
“That,” he murmurs softly, “was not hatred.”
Before I can formulate a response, a horn blares in the distance, and a moment later, bootsteps pound down the corridor. King Theron tenses and his eyes flash with annoyance.
“What is it?” I ask.
He tilts his head, giving me an appraising look, and his eyes keep drifting to my mouth. “That’s a fae battle horn,” he says. “Itwould seem someone is attacking my soldiers.” He loosens his grip on my hair, then finally steps back.
Fear and worry spread through me. A fae battle horn. My pulse thumps in my ears, and I start to grow cold. Who would be foolish enough to attack the fae? Particularly in the aftermath of Tribute Day? The people of Braemar have already lost so much, and my heart hurts at the prospect of them losing more. I swallow hard and take a shaky breath.
“Please,” I say in an imploring tone. “Whatever’s happened, please don’t hold all of Braemar responsible for the actions of a few.”
Smoke reaches me, and my fear deepens.Please don’t let the city be on fire.Dark memories swirl in my mind. The day Mama became trapped in a burning house. Knowing she was scheduled to visit the affluent area of the city where the house was aflame, I’d rushed to the scene, only to learn that it was too late. Neighbors tried to rescue all those trapped inside, but no one emerged alive.
The king’s eyes flare wide, and I sense his presence in my mind.
Heknows. He just saw my thoughts.
He knows exactly what happened to my mother.
Though his expression softens somewhat, he remains tense as the battle horn continues to blare, a reminder that surely he must leave my side soon. He runs a hand through my hair and leans his forehead against mine. It feels like a sweet goodbye even though it shouldn’t. He’s probably going to visit his wrath on whoever dared to attack his soldiers.
I will do what I must to protect my people, he sends down the tether that connects us.
I don’t respond, and he eventually starts to pull away from me. He lifts my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on the backof it. Then he releases me, turns toward the door, and departs his bedchamber in a rush of winter wind.
As soon as the door closes, I exhale a long breath and circle my arms around my center. My legs wobble, but I make it to a chair before I can collapse. So much has happened, and it’s difficult to wrap my mind around recent events and make sense of it all.
King Theron can hear my thoughts, just as I can hear his. It seems we can sense one another’s emotions too. Also… those visions. I’ve had two visions that are frightening indeed, particularly the last one, the one with the bonfire in the Winter Court forest.
I think of the darkness in the king’s past. Elssandra’s betrayal. His fated mate. She’s gone. Dead. Though he didn’t come out and say it, or think it, I suspect he killed her. I suspect he chased her down in a rage-induced frenzy and slaughtered her in the dark, snowy mountains that stretch beyond the Northern Isles. She’d plotted to kill him. Because of her cousin.
Her cousin.
The chills rushing through me deepen until my teeth chatter. I shift closer to the fire as I continue trying to piece the clues together.
