He caught her jaw in his hand, tilting her head back.
“Not here.”
His teeth skimmed her throat, over the racing pulse where any mark would be seen.
“Here, they’d talk.”
He dragged his mouth lower, across the line of her collarbone.
“Here, they’d whisper.”
His lips brushed the top of her breast.
“But here—” his teeth grazed the swell, her skin shivering “—here we can mark each other where only we’ll see it. Where no court, no throne, no battlefield can take it from us.”
Her breath hitched, dare flaring in her eyes. She pressed her mouth to his chest, just above his heart, and grazed him with her teeth. He tensed, pulse hammering against her lips. When she bit down—gentle but claiming—he groaned, his head dropping back, every muscle straining not to crush her against him.
“Dask, Amerei—”
His voice was ragged, half warning, half plea. His hand fisted in the sheets, the other cradling her hair so she couldn’t mistake his shudder for retreat.
But she only bit him again, firmer this time, until his restraint snapped into a low growl. He hauled her tighter against his chest, his breath rough in her ear—
A knock rapped sharp against the door.
Viktor froze, every muscle straining. If that sound hadn’t come, he would’ve been lost—he knew it. He would’ve taken her again, honor and reason burned to ash.
“One more heartbeat, Ami, and I would’ve—”
He cut himself off. She had no idea what a third time would’ve done to her, and the innocent hunger in her eyes made his restraint ache all the worse.
“Dask,” he cursed, dragging a hand down his face. “Saved by a knock.”
Another, louder.
Amerei groaned softly, hiding her face against his chest.
“Who would dare?”
“Fecking Gabriel,” he growled under his breath.
A slip of parchment slid under the door.
Viktor tore himself away, every movement cut with tension. He snatched up the note, cracking it open with dangerous impatience.
“‘Put your clothes back on and get out here.’” He read it aloud, his voice flat, then tossed the words like a curse into the quiet. “Signed, Gabriel.”
Amerei sighed, soft but wicked in its disappointment.
“Does he make it his life’s purpose to appear at the worst possible moment?”
Viktor pressed his lips to her temple, smirking darkly.
“If he does it again, love, I’ll toss him off the balcony.”
They rose slow, reluctant, dressing in stolen touches and half-hidden smiles—his fingers grazing her wrist as he passed her robe, her hand smoothing a wrinkle at his collar only to linger too long.
She bent to gather her gown and caught sight of the discarded note. She plucked it up, brow furrowing.
