“Seems I am.” I ran the back of my finger along the iron door, the metal clinking under my shaky hand.
Shadows cast out from his spine, stretching along the length of his cell, flittering in the hollow draft, wing-like. He raised his chin, gaze locking onto mine. Those electric-green eyes, the ones I dreamed about, were still devoured by emptiness, his black gaze chilling me.
Placing his palms on the frozen ground in front of him, he lurched forward, his shoulders rippling, in a slow, desperate crawl. “Did you come to help me, baby?”
I bristled. There was so much desire under that whine, so much need in those trembling muscles. Tendrils of those same, messy feelings twirled in my stomach. Clenching my fists at my sides, I tried to hold them in, but he made it impossible, even if I knew this was all a ploy.
“Please, baby.”
Fucking. Impossible.
A heady rush of air and emotions rustled my lungs. This wasn’t a good idea. Not at all.
Muffled laughter echoed off the icy walls, barreling under my skin. “What?” he said between laughs, “Are you scared of me now?”
“You killed people at Crescent Rock,” I said, tone lined with steel. “Of course I am.”
“Wasn’t me. Although my hands make steady work of my enemies.” He broke off to catch his breath, his teeth flashing a predatory smile. “Would you like to see what I can do with them?”
Upper lip curling, I tightened my grip around the iron separating us. The door rattled. “In your fucking dream?—”
A whistle wove through the air. The pitch was weak, wary, but shrill enough to run a sheet of goosebumps over my arms. Unsheathing the dagger from my waist, I whirled around, the soles of my shoes scuffing the cobblestone.
No one was there.
The crown of Ryder’s head bumped the door.
Twisting to glance back down at him, my eyes caught on the sleek curve of my crystal blade.
“That’s right,” I whispered. I turned the silver handle over, weighing the weapon in my palm. Mined by the dwarves, it held a unique sort of magic: sniffing out the wielder’s enemies with a single drop of their blood.
Lowering to a crouch, I set the torch on the ground. I took in Ryder’s ripped black shirt, the bluish tint to his skin—bordering on hypothermia—the swell of his pants. Batting my lashes, I matched his desperation.
This was a game two of us could play.
“Come here,” I purred.
He moaned, lifting his chin to meet my stare, exposing the pale column of his throat.
Before my courage failed me, before he could stop me, I shot my fingers through the space between the bars and with a speed I didn’t know I possessed in this freezing cold, wrapped them around his nape.
He didn’t resist, falling forward limply as I jerked our faces together between the iron, a hair’s breadth of icy air the only thing between us. His breath danced over my lips. For a heated moment, we held there, inhaling each other.
Then I brought the knife to his neck.
“Again?” He chuckled, and it held no ounce of warmth. “You going to kill me this time?”
“No.” I dragged the sharp edge over his vein. “I want my blade to memorize the taste of your blood.”
“Because you can’t stay away from me either. Admit it.” The words were ragged.
“Because you’re my enemy.” Red carved down his skin, pooling at his collar. “And I want neither one of us to forget it.”
“Who is this girl?” Air hissed out through his teeth. “I like her.”
“Yeah?” Pursing my lips, I slowly shook my head. “You can’t have her.”
Darkness flickered in his eyes. “Get in here,” he growled.
