“You planning on getting drunk with me, Daredevil? You were so snuggly last time. Might make it easier for us to both fit in that bed.”
“I don’t need to be drunk to snuggle with you, Tristan.” The shocked look on her face as the words left her mouth suggested she might already be a little tipsy. She pushed her glass away. “But probably best if I don’t finish this.”
He drained her wine, then stood, offering her a hand. “Come on, Cass.” She placed her palm in his, and he stroked his thumb across her knuckles, lowering his voice. “Let’s go to bed.”
She snickered, elbowing him in the stomach as she rose.
The tendril of earthy, musky scent that crawled up his nostrils as she walked away was encouraging.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Cassandra brushed out her long, chocolate waves, struggling to avert her eyes from the panty-melting display of male perfection reflected in the mirror.
Tristan was sprawled across the tiny bed behind her. Shirtless, naturally. A compromise, since he’d informed her as they were changing for bed that he normally slept naked.
She’d blamed the heat crawling up her neck on the wine. He'd laughed, raised his hands and surrendered, agreeing to put on his low-slung black pants.
Not much better.
She’d closed her eyes and turned towards the wall while he changed, the sounds of popping zippers, creaking leather, and rustling wings doing nothing to tame her simmering blood. Then he’d pivoted, exposing the powerful muscles of his back and giving her a modicum of privacy as she shucked off her pants, bra and top.
She hadn’t bothered buying any nightclothes during their shopping trip. Nothing could be as comfortable, nor smell as good, as the soft, worn cotton shirt he’d given her to sleep in.
Working on a particularly persistent knot, her eyes roamed over every detail of the mirror’s magnetic spectacle. As if her subconscious wanted to etch the vision onto her brain.
His shimmering, iridescent wings draped over the bed. The ink-black strands of his shoulder-length hair nestled on the pillow. The arm tucked behind his head, showcasing his absurdly large biceps. The chiseled decadence of his torso, gilded by the amber glow of the matching oil-lamp sconces flanking the window.
“I’m beginning to feel a bit objectified.” He closed his small, leather-bound book with a dull clap and laid it on his chest, snaring her in his caramel gaze. His lips formed an amused smile, exposing a hint of sharp canine and that lickable dimple. “But still happy to lose the pants if you’ve changed your mind.”
She whipped her eyes to her own reflection, running the brush violently through the ends of her hair and wincing as it caught the snarl.
“Nope, I’m good!”
His dark chuckle slid over her skin like a silken promise.
“What are you reading?” she asked, an attempt to smother the blazing tension crackling to life between them.
“The memoir of a famous Fae chef from the continent.” His unexpected answer coaxed a broad, involuntary smile from her. “Why? What did you think I’d be reading?”
She tugged at the brush. Bloody Stygios, this knot was stubborn. “Well, since it’s too small to be a cookbook, I thought something likeHow to Fell Your Enemies with a Single BloworThe Art of Seducing Females of Either Species?”
“No need to read something I could’ve written myself.” He re-opened the book. “This chef has got a restaurant in Delos that’s supposed to be the best on the continent. It takes weeks to get a reservation and costs moredrachasthan most folks could earn in a month, but they say it’s the best meal you’ll ever have in your lifetime. And coming from the Fae, that’s saying something.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“I didn’t get a chance before I was exiled.” He peered at her over the sepia pages. “Not sure I ever will. Just a silly fantasy.”
“You don’t think your brother will commute your sentence and allow you back on the continent if you help him get what he’s after?” She spun towards him, abandoning the knot and settling the brush onto the bureau.
He snapped the book closed, slamming it onto the narrow wood shelf that passed for a nightstand. “Eamon is… he’s a monster. Probably why he and Varuna get along so well. Soulless-mates, those two.” Cassandra flinched at the violence with which he’d said the Vicereine’s name. She’d never heard him use it. “Now that he’s sent Arran Zephyrus after Maksym, I can’t imagine why he has us chasing down this necklace. Maybe he’s just trying to tie up every loose end, but I can’t help feeling like this is a fool’s errand.”
“Then why did we agree to it?”
A shadow of fear flickered across Tristan’s face before he chased it away with a teasing grin. “Free trip to the beach?”
Cassandra burst into tears, and Tristan rushed over to cup her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Cass.” He wiped the wetness away with his thumbs. “That was a terrible joke.”
