Chapter 31
Ididn’t know how long I’d been there. Time felt slippery, unmeasured. It could’ve been minutes or hours since I’d somehow ended up in Varyth’s arms again, my back pressed against the solid heat of his chest, his body curved around mine.
The rational part of my brain, the part that usually screamed run or fight or don’t trust this, had apparently fucked off to take a nap. Because I was still here. Still pressed against him. Still breathing in sync with the rise and fall of his chest.
And gods help me, I didn’t hate it.
The room was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of the castle settling into night.
Which should have been my first warning that peace never lasted.
Behind me, Varyth stirred.
It started with a small shift—his fingers flexing against my hip where his hand had been resting. Then a slow exhale that ghosted across the back of my neck and sent every nerve ending I possessed into immediate, catastrophic awareness.
“Isara.” My name came out rough, sleep-thick and edged with something that made heat pool low in my stomach.
“Mm?”
His hand slid from my hip to my waist, fingers splaying wide like he needed to feel more of me. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
“Liar.” The word was a rumble against my spine, and then his mouth—gods, his mouth—brushed against the curve where my neck met my shoulder. Not quite a kiss. More like a question. “Your breathing changed twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes. I’d been lying here, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touched, for twenty minutes.
“You were awake too,” I accused, my voice coming out breathier than I’d intended.
“Obviously.” Another brush of his lips, this time with the faintest edge of teeth. “Did you think I could sleep with you pressed against me like this?”
His hand drifted lower, tracing the line of my ribs with maddening slowness.
“You’re being very...” I searched for the word as his thumb traced lazy circles just below my breast. “Tactile this morning.”
“This morning?” A low laugh vibrated through his chest into mine. “Isara, it’s past midnight.”
Oh.
“The pain tonic must’ve worn off,” I managed, trying desperately to sound casual while his hand continued its slow exploration of every curve and hollow he could reach.
“Mm. Yes.” His mouth found that spot just below my ear that made my toes curl. “It has.”
I waited for him to pull back. To remember whatever walls we’d built between us during our last fight.
Instead, his hand slid up to cup my jaw, tilting my head back against his shoulder so he could trail his lips down the exposed column of my throat. Like he had all the time in the world to absolutely ruin me.
“Varyth—”
“You were saying something about the pain tonic?” His teeth scraped against my pulse point, and I felt him smile when I couldn’t quite suppress the sound that escaped me. “About me being delirious?”
“Yes.” The word came out strangled. “Very delirious. Possibly concussed.”
“Strange.” His hand drifted back down, fingertips grazing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. “I feel remarkably lucid.”
“This is—” I broke off when his teeth found my earlobe. “Fuck.”
“Is?” he prompted, sounding far too pleased with himself.
“Complicated.”
“Life is complicated.” His hand found my jaw and tilted my face toward him, and gods, his eyes were molten silver in the darkness. “This is simple.”
“I’m still pissed at you,” I said, but it came out weak. Unconvincing.
“Good.” His hand slid under my shirt—skin on skin—and the sound he made against my throat when his palm found my ribs was sinful.
Before I could process that, before I could ask why the fuck good was his response to me being angry—
A knock cut through the room.
We both froze.
For a single, horrible moment, neither of us moved. Varyth’s hand was under my shirt, his mouth pressed against my throat, his breathing as ragged as mine.
Another knock. More insistent.
“Fuck off,” Varyth growled against my skin, and the sound vibrated through my entire body.
His teeth found the curve where my neck met my shoulder, not quite breaking skin, just pressure and heat and a scrape that sent electricity sparking down my spine.
Then his tongue traced the same path, soothing the nip, and I had to bite down on my own lip to keep from making a sound that would destroy whatever dignity I had left.
“Varyth.” Darian’s voice came through the door, apologetic but firm. “It’s important.”
Varyth’s hand tightened on my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Another growl rumbled through his chest, this one pure frustration and utterly feral.
“Define important,” he snarled, but he’d stopped moving. Stopped kissing. His forehead dropped against my shoulder, and his breathing was as ragged as mine.
“Very important.” Fenric now, carrying that edge of urgency that said this wasn’t going away. “As in, you’re really going to want to hear this.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Varyth lifted his head, and the look in his eyes was pure murder. Silver gone molten with frustration and something darker.
Right. We were about to be interrupted by his entire inner circle.
In his bedroom.
Where I was currently sprawled in his bed wearing nothing but a sleep shirt and the world’s worst decision-making skills.
“You should—” I started, trying to inject some rationality into the situation. “You should probably deal with that.”
His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind together. “I’m going to kill them both.”
“Later.” I shoved at his chest, trying to ignore how warm his skin was beneath my palms. How solid. How much I wanted to pull him back down instead of push him away. “Go. Before they break down the door.”
For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Might tell them to fuck off again and come back to ruining me with his mouth and hands and that infuriating smile.
Instead, he exhaled hard and pushed himself up. The loss of contact was immediate and devastating. Cold air rushed in where his body heat had been, my skin suddenly too sensitive, too aware of every place he’d touched.
We both moved, awkward and rushed. Varyth swung his legs over the side of the bed, and I scrambled out the other side, my hands already smoothing down my rumpled shirt.
My hair was a disaster. My face was probably flushed.
And there was absolutely no way anyone with functioning eyes would look at either of us and think nothing had been happening.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I spotted the armchair near the window and made a beeline for it, dropping into the seat with what I hoped looked like casual nonchalance. Like I’d been sitting here reading the whole time. Like I definitely hadn’t been seconds away from—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
I grabbed the book on territorial magic from where it had fallen to the floor and cracked it open to a random page, holding it up like a shield. My pulse hammered against my throat, betraying every attempt at composure.
Across the room, Varyth tugged his pants on over his undershorts with movements that were more violence than grace. He didn’t bother lacing them up, just yanked them into place and stalked toward the door with murder written across every line of his body.
His hand hit the door handle. Twisted. Wrenched it open with enough force to make the hinges protest.
“What?”
The single word came out flat. Lethal. The tone of a High Lord who was about three seconds away from doing something he’d probably enjoy but definitely regret.
“Nyxaria reached out.” Darian’s voice, tight with tension.
Every muscle in Varyth’s body went rigid. Perfectly, utterly still in that way that preceded violence or disaster or both.
“What?”
“Can we just—” Fenric sighed, and I could hear the exhaustion in it. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t exactly a hallway conversation.”
A pause. Long enough that I stopped breathing.
“Fine.” Varyth stepped back, opening the door wider. An invitation. Or maybe a threat. With him, it was always hard to tell the difference.
Darian stepped through first, all blonde swagger and leather that probably looked better on him than it had any right to. His eyes swept the room in a single, efficient glance.
They landed on me.
Froze.
Fenric followed half a step behind, those massive red wings folded tight against his back. His gaze found me in the armchair, book held up like it could somehow make this less catastrophically obvious.
His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
Both of them looked at me. Then at Varyth, shirtless, pants barely on, hair mussed, looking like he’d just been interrupted mid-something.
Then back to me.
I stared at my book like the secrets of the universe were written on page forty-seven. Like I absolutely could not see them looking at me. Like I definitely had not just been in that bed with their High Lord doing things that were none of their fucking business.
Darian’s mouth twitched. The bastard was trying not to smile.
Fenric cleared his throat, the sound somehow managing to convey both amusement and deep, profound regret at having to be here right now.
“So.” Darian’s voice carried the kind of neutrality that screamed he was about thirty seconds from laughing. “Sorry to interrupt your... reading session.”
I didn’t look up. “Riveting stuff. Very educational.”
“I can see that.” The smile in the words was absolutely insufferable. “Nothing says ‘academic pursuit’ quite like—”
“Darian.” Varyth’s interjection could have flash-frozen lava. “You said Nyxaria reached out. Start talking before I decide this interruption wasn’t worth keeping you alive.”
“Right.” Darian’s smirk faded. “They said they want to negotiate a truce. Peace.”
Varyth’s entire body tensed.
“They want peace?” he repeated, the doubt unmistakable.
“They said they do,” Fenric replied, his tone clipped. “Though I doubt it’s anything more than a ploy. To do with—” He gestured vaguely in my direction.