He stepped closer, and the way our bond leaped like it was executing a starburst in Vaelaï told me my offer was far more dangerous than I had initially considered.
“If you insist,” he purred, grabbing a pillow from his pallet.
“I didn’t, I offered.” The defense rushed out of me like a waterfall.
He rounded the bed, and I scooted to the edge of the mattress, putting as much distance between us as possible. Even wedged a pillow in the center like it could ward off any further empathy for him.
His added bulk caused the firm surface to dip.
I closed my eyes, every muscle pulled taut and pulse dancing wildly at my throat.
A low groan vibrated in his chest as he turned onto his side. Unfortunately, I thought he was facing me. Stealing a glance, I found, in fact, he was.
This was so much worse than his tossing and turning on the floor. How was I supposed to sleep with himlooking at me?
Stupid, stupid, Sylaira.
He adjusted himself, the heat of his body warming me more than the fire slowly dying into embers. And our skin wasn’t even flush.
The chain hummed, content for now with our proximity. I dragged in a breath, trying to focus on the rise and fall of my breath when my mate—who hadn’t claimed me yet—had ample opportunity to do so once the purple potion took hold.
No matter his immense, terrifying power, I knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t touch me like that without my permission.
He could Command me. He had on more than one occasion already.
He could restrain me with his magic. Break my will if he truly wanted.
But that moment where our bodies joined for the first time, never to be the same after?
That he wouldn’t take unless I was willing.
It was a strange comfort, acknowledging that. In that regard, I was safe with him too.
The poppy swam through my veins, tugging my eyelids down, down, down…
I shifted to my right. Something warm brushed my hip. A sigh slipped past my lips.
And then I eased into darkness.
Chirpingbirds stirred me from a deep slumber. Groggy, I rubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes. Through blurry vision, I took in my surroundings.
Wooden beams overhead. A small window filtering in early morning light. A mattress pressing into my back. An ache blooming in my knee.
And something hard draped across my stomach.
Not just something—a muscled, tattooed arm.
Vaeron’s arm.
Scorching breath ghosted across my shoulder. Slowly, I turned my head, finding my mate’s face close enough to kiss should I lean ever so slightly forward. His gray lashes brushed against his hard cheekbones. The line between his brows was smooth. Lips slightly parted, he looked more at ease than I’d ever seen him.
My attention tracked down to the jagged letters carved over his heart. My fingers itched to trace them, to discover if they really were scars. Who had done it to him? They would have had to use a bronze blade to ensure they remained long after the final slice. From the size of them, probably more than once.
You can’t feel sympathy for him, Sylaira.
They whispered stories I wasn’t ready to hear. I faced forward again and reminded myself of all the horrible things he’d done.
Hunted me. Commanded me. Killed those I loved.
