Page 20 of Given to the Black King

He takes one step closer. The table is at my back. He is in front of me. I can feel the heat from his body.

“I broke his arm because he reached for a weapon in my hall.”

“And if he had insulted someone else?”

His jaw locks.

His right hand lands on the table beside my hip. The claws drive into the oak. His left hand stays at his side.

Deliberate.

“Do not test this,” he says.

“Test what?”

His gaze moves to my mouth.

“The thing you felt last night.”

Heat pulls tight beneath my ribs.

“You felt it too.”

He looks almost angry at the question.

“Yes.”

The answer leaves me suddenly unsteady.

I lift my hand.

He goes completely still.

I do not touch his chest or face. I place one fingertip against the back of his hand, between two raised tendons.

His skin is hot.

A growl starts deep in him.

My finger trembles.

The claw nearest it slides farther into the wood.

“Does that hurt?” I ask.

“No.”

“The claws?”

“No.”

“Touching me?”

His eyes close for one beat.

“Yes.”

I remove my finger.