He frowned, stepping closer. She clenched her jaw to distract herself, the smarter choice over squeezing the blade in her hand. Though if he didn’t stop looking at her, she might have to draw blood just to remind herself not to jump him right here.
“You think there’s a way to solidify the wall again?”
Brela shrugged. “Not without using an insane amount of extinct magic, but maybe if we learn what went into the wall we can figure out what might come out of it.”
Cason raised his eyebrow, now standing dangerously close to her. Then, his gaze drifted to the pile of books on the table. Brela very carefully loosed the breath that had caught in her lungs, thankful she had kept her composure.
Gods, she’d never had to restrain herself like this. This might be worse than any torture Dernian and Ovir had inflicted.
Except there had been nothing revealing to see in Cason’s blue eyes. No heat. No hint of desire shining. She hadn’t imagined that burning earlier, but maybe he’d realized she’d been lying all day. Maybe he was upset she’d beat him this morning. Maybe he’d only been teasing her to distract her.
“It’s probably useless,” she eventually said into the silence. “Not like there are any shadow-kind left, and definitely none strong enough to put the wall back together.”
Cason nodded, more to himself than to her comment. His fist gripped at his side, followed by an audible swallow as his jaw clenched.
Brela opened her mouth, but completely forgot what she was about to say as Cason blurted, “Four hells, you have to stop doing that.”
She took half a step away from him, startled at the growl he released. “Doing what?”
“That,” he said, pointing to her hands without looking at her. His voice dropped to a low rumble. “Flipping that gods-damned knife in your hand.”
Brela glanced down at the silver dancing between her fingers. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been doing it, the movement second nature to her. She forced herself to swallow, hiding her surprise. He’d done this to her before—flipping the knife in front of her—but suddenly it bothered him?
“Why? Because you’re upset I won it back?”
“Yes.” His knuckles turned white against his side, the other hand now gripping the table with the same force. “Because without that knife at my hip or in my hand, I feel this empty weight nagging at me. Knowing you’ve had it on you, watching you constantly flip it all day... it’s taunting me.”
“You find it annoying.”
He growled. “I find it…exhilarating.”
Brela made no effort to hide the fiery shiver that ran through her body at the hunger in his voice, nor did she stop twisting the blade through her fingers. His gaze didn’t leave her hand, but she could feel it. Heat. So much heat, and she knew it wasn’t only hers. It was visible in the air around them, radiating off his skin. Warmth curled around every inch of her—settled through muscles and pooled in dangerous places.
Alone. They were alone. And,gods,she couldn’t stop looking at his lips. The same ones that had crushed into hers back at the inn while she pretended to be Maeve. His roaming hands that never quite touched enough skin to satisfy her. That teasing tongue that made her forget he was her enemy.
She wanted to forget.
“Fascinating,” she purred, taking a step forward. The graceful and always composed Cason stumbled back. He couldn’t have covered it up, even if he tried, because the table rattled as he shifted. She grinned. “This…knifeis taunting you?”
Cason swallowed, tension rippling through his shoulders and chest. “I know it shouldn’t, but without it, I’m losing control.”
Brela closed the distance between them. Close enough to send the Veil shard thrumming its warning through her chest. “You’ve been avoiding the knife all day because you think you’re losing control?”
His eyes twitched at her movement, but remained locked on the blade as it danced closer. “It was easier to avoid it than accept that I find itutterly intoxicatingthat a gods-damned knife can distract me.”
Brela stepped closer. She knew he didn’t mean the knife.
He swallowed. “It should frustrate me.” Heat swirled as his breath hitched. “It should terrify me that I’m losing control.”
She lifted the blade over his unfairly gorgeous body, teasing it over the skin of his arm. She traced it up the tight muscles, heart racing as she watched his jaw clench. That concentration furrowing his brow…
“Stop counting,” she breathed.
“Brela, I can’t,” he rasped. “If I stop, I won’t be able to hold myself back.”
Her tongue ran over her lips. “Then don’t.”
A low rumble sounded in his chest. Part groan, part growl, all restraint.
