Chapter 9 Kieran
Kieran
Ishould never have touched her.
Her heat still clung to my hands, her bare back branded into my palms like I’d held fire. I’d meant only to play the part, to make the attendants believe what they were supposed to believe. But then I’d lifted her against me and—Vireth save me—I hadn’t wanted to put her down.
Now I stood half-naked, shirt discarded, her eyes on me like a physical weight. She stared as though she wanted to sink her teeth into me, though she had none to bare. As though she wanted to claim.
And I wanted her to.
My cock ached, straining against trousers I hadn’t yet shed, and all I could think of was the way her pulse had thundered against my chest, the scent of her desire slick in the air. She wanted me and hated that she did. I could taste it, salt and sweet, fury and hunger, all tangled together.
One more breath and I would have kissed her. Bitten her. Driven myself into her until she forgot every reason she had to hate me.
Instead, I forced a smirk, stripped the rest of the shirt from my shoulders, and turned away before I did something I couldn’t take back. She could never know how close I’d come.
I had to bathe. Dress. Focus. The Hunt wasn’t a game I could afford to lose and dragging her into it was already a gamble. She was clever enough to play her part, but the Court would test her, probe for weakness, and every eye would be looking for the moment I slipped.
And if I caught her—
My jaw clenched. Best not to think of that.
This was meant to be simple: a role she would play for a night, then return to her bar in the Divide, to her surly guard and quick-handed bartender, to the safety of her small life. Not mine. Never mine.
So why did the scent of her still cling to me like a promise? Why did every breath remind me she already was?
The water should have been a reprieve. Scalding heat to strip her from me, to bleed the tension out of my muscles before the Hunt.
But the steam carried her with it. Embers and rosewater, the faint bite of Divide dust clinging to her clothes, the raw tang of fear threaded through with something sweeter. Hunger. Need. It coated the chamber, soaked into the very stones, until I breathed nothing else.
My cock throbbed beneath the water, swollen, heavy, demanding, and I gave in—wrapping my fist around myself, slick heat sliding as I stroked once, twice, harder. Not because I wanted her—gods, I couldn’t afford to want her—but because I needed my head clear. A quick release. A purge.
But the moment I closed my eyes, she was there.
Pressed chest to chest against me, her back bare under my hands, skin hot silk beneath my palms. Her scar hidden like it belonged to me alone.
Her lips parted on a breath I’d almost taken.
The fire in her eyes when she looked at me—like she wanted to sink her teeth into me, claim me, even without fangs.
My grip tightened, hips jerking up into my palm. The echo, the scent of her clung to me, dragging me down, winding me tighter. My breath stuttered, cock leaking as release hovered, violent and consuming—
—and then vanished. Gone, ripped out from under me because it wasn’t nameless. It wasn’t simple. It was her.
With a snarl, I let go, water slapping hard against stone as I shoved back, chest heaving. My head was worse for it—aching, empty, and I was harder than before.
No amount of heat or discipline would burn her out of me. Not tonight. Not ever, if I wasn’t careful.
I scrubbed myself down fast, as though soap and water could scour her out of me. They couldn’t. Not when her scent was baked into my skin, into the marrow of my bones. By the time I hauled myself out of the basin, my cock was aching, the attempt at release only making it worse.
A towel waited, thick and soft, and I wrapped it low around my hips. The robe that should have hung beside it was gone. My robe.
Silk against her bare skin—that thought landed like a blow.
I imagined it clinging to her damp curves, wrapping her in something that smelled of me.
My cock jumped at the thought, straining tighter against the towel.
She’d stolen it, whether on purpose or not, and the thought of her wrapped in my robe made me want to drag her out of it and fuck her into the stone.
Growling, I pushed open the bathing chamber door. Steam rolled out with me, curling into the wider room where she waited.
Her gaze snapped up and caught. She froze, eyes widening as they dragged over me, taking in the water dripping down my chest, the ink curling over my arms, the towel hiding nothing at all.
She flushed and tried to look away. Gods, she even managed it for half a breath.
Then her eyes slid back, helpless, hungry.
I let her stare as I crossed the chamber, slow enough for every step to weigh on her. I didn’t bother with shame; I’d never had use for it. Nudity was just another weapon.
At the chair, I tugged the towel loose and reached for my trousers. Her want hit me like another hand around my cock, searing and relentless and impossible to ignore. She didn’t even realize she was staring, not until my voice cut the silence.
“If you don’t want to get fucked right out of that pretty dress,” I murmured, fisting the fabric in my fingers, “I suggest you stop staring at my cock.”
Her breath caught, sharp and furious, her flush spilling down her throat. But she didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even try to deny it.
And gods help me; I wanted her all the more for it.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip hard enough to bruise.
The sight made my cock jerk, straining heavy and bare between us.
She turned then, too fast, her back stiff, shoulders locked like a soldier bracing for a blow.
A refusal. A retreat. But gods, the heat rolling off her told the truth her body wouldn’t admit.
The line of her spine drew my eyes down, beads glinting as they traced the curve of her hip. My hand twitched, half a breath from following that path, from testing the heat where silk gave way to skin.
I tore my gaze away, gripping the trousers like they were a lifeline, rough and impatient as I shoved into them. Leather scraped against damp skin, my cock too thick to settle comfortably as I fastened the ties.
And all the while, it was her silence that gave her away—the quick hitch of breath at the sound of buckles, the audible swallow when I bent to lace my boots. She didn’t look at first. But she couldn’t help herself.
The weight of her gaze slid back over me, hot as a touch I could feel on every inch of my body.
Good. Let her stare. Let her know she’d stripped me raw without lifting a finger.
I pulled the laces tight, every motion deliberate as I tried to bind myself back into some semblance of sanity. The ache in my cock throbbed with every tug, every scrape of leather against skin.
A tunic followed, then the hardened leather cuirass, the straps biting into my shoulders as I buckled them down. Layer by layer, I rebuilt myself: boots laced tight, belt drawn snug, blades slipped into their sheaths until I felt less like a man and more like the weapon I was born to be.
And still, I sensed her watching.
Her breath hitched when steel whispered from its scabbard as I checked the edge of a dagger. Her pulse fluttered when I bent to cinch the last strap across my waist. She thought herself subtle, but gods, I could feel her eyes dragging over me, her body betraying her at every turn.
I straightened, the last piece of armor snug across my chest, and finally turned to face her.
The gown clung like sin, beads glinting at her throat and down the curve of her spine, silk shifting with every shallow breath she took.
For tonight, she would stand at my side—not because she belonged to me, but because I needed her.
“The Hunt isn’t just bloodsport,” I murmured. “It’s politics wrapped in silk. Half the knives are aimed at the quarry. The rest are aimed at me.” My hand stayed steady, palm open, inviting. “That’s why you’re here. To see what I can’t. To sense the danger before it strikes.”
Her fingers hesitated before brushing my sleeve, lighter than a whisper.
“You’ll hate them all just as much as I do,” I added, leaning closer, the words meant for her alone. “But if your sight gives us even one step ahead… it matters. And for that—” I let the corner of my mouth turn, a rare, fleeting curve. “For that, I’m grateful.”
I held her gaze as I closed my fingers over hers.
“One more thing,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“They’ll all be watching. Every glance, every smile, every word.
They’ll think you can’t hear them, so they’ll be reading me.
Don’t assume your signing is private, either.
Everyone here will understand you. Evara’s temples demand silence, so half the kingdom grew up fluent.
And nobles love it—discreet enough for passing threats across a banquet table. ”
Her brow furrowed, just slightly. “So even if they don’t care about their god, they care about gossip.”
“Exactly. Faith makes hypocrites fluent.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice further. “I’ll sign names, nothing more. Harmless things they expect me to tell you. What matters is how I touch you. That’s what you’ll watch.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she didn’t look away.
“If I kiss you here”—I brushed my thumb along the underside of her jaw, heat flaring at the contact—“it means they’re dangerous. If I hold your hand, it means I believe they might be useful. If I don’t touch you at all…” I let the corner of my mouth curve. “Forget them. They’re nothing.”
Her pulse jumped at my touch, faster than she’d likely wanted it to, but she gave me a tight nod, and that was enough.