Chapter 41
Shoulders back, I drifted into the Great Hall, heart raging in my chest. Each strut of my legs swished my dress, casting a mural of sparkles on the ivory stone.
Pausing just beyond the threshold, I scanned the arched room. The hem of my gown rippled at my feet, the slit parting at my ankle and running up to my thigh.
Whispers raced. Heads turned. Even the champagne seemed to bubble with excitement.
I kept my chin high, swiping a flute off a passing tray, trying and failing to emanate a vibe that was cool and unbothered.
But it was impossible to ignore the stares, the murmurs, the way the elven court looked at me as if they couldn’t decide if they needed to be scared of me or worship me.
The sweet drink fizzed against my lips, bubbling all the way down. Only when the strings of the harp filled the room and the servers got back to their rounds did court politics and succession become the topics of conversation, prodding eyes getting bored and drifting away.
All except one pair.
I could feel his stare burning into my skin, gliding over the dips and curves of my body, pleading for me to turn his way—once I did, I knew it was over, knew I’d be crossing that floor in a storm of cerulean fabric and want and rage.
Then I saw him: an angel leaning against a marble column. Cutting jaw, slicked hair, a fresh scar on his throat, white collar open, tattooed clavicle exposed. Ryder’s gaze, still rimmed with darkness but brighter than before, flared with a knowing heat.
It was so much worse than wanting. He was like gravity, like air. I needed him.
Placing my nearly full glass onto a table stocked with every cured meat known to man, I squeezed past the beads and jewels and flowing dresses, the bright suits and patterned ties.
The hunter didn’t move, tracking me solely with his eyes. And then I was cutting across the empty dance floor, and then I was standing in front of him, my chin kicking back to take all of him in.
Face wild with that same yearning that set me ablaze, he towered over me.
The light softened, and the music seemed to fade.
Where did we go from here?
He held out a palm. “May I?”
It was probably just the shadows from the flickering candlelight, but I could have sworn he was trembling.
I took his hand. It was cold. Weirder, it was smooth, with none of his usual calluses. They must have faded from his skin during those lonely, weaponless nights spent in the dungeon.
Bringing us closer, he slid an arm around my waist. Timid, unsteady, so the opposite of him. “Is this okay?”
I nodded. “Yes.” My free hand drifted to his back.
Who was this person?
Who was I?
We swayed to the gentle thrums of the harp, but my spine was stiff, my posture rigid and boxy.
There were too many questions left unanswered, too many things left unsaid.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?” Strands of his dark brown locks fell over his temples. I wanted to run my fingers through them.
Instead, I said, “For not slaughtering my friends when I left the Terrordome.”
He bowed his head.
“I have to admit”—blood flew through my veins in a dizzying rush—“I wasn’t sure for a minute. You seemed awfully cozy with Flóki. Were you working together?”
His jaw worked to form the words. “He’s a Chthonia supporter. Same rank as my brother. Handles the elven squadron.”
My gut twisted. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Who do you fight for?”
“You.” A hoarseness lined his voice, the familiar lilt turned tired and raspy.
Butterflies whirled behind my ribs. “I’m sure Leif isn’t too thrilled about that.”
“I don’t care.” His minty breath danced over my cheeks. Heady, inviting.
I didn’t want to lose him, lose us, not when I’d just gotten him back, but this was so much bigger than that—this was an act of war. “You’ll be putting a target on your back.”
His eyes flashed black. “I’ll draw it myself.”
Pushing off his chest, I tore out of his grasp, away from the darkness, the evil that seemed to be fully part of him now. “You’d turn on your family?”
He snatched my hand and placed it over his heart, his stare electric green again, burning. “River Harlow, I will go against everything I am, everything I know, to be with you.”
His pulse thundered beneath my palm. Thump, thump, thump. You’re the only reason it hasn’t stopped completely. “Why?”
Slowly, Ryder dropped to his knees. Curious glances drifted in our direction. He ignored them, not daring to stray from my face. “There’s a… hold on me… It’s more powerful than the blood oath, more potent than my instincts. And definitely a hell of a lot more important than my duty.”
“What’s that?” My legs worked to hold me steady. His grip latched around my thighs.
“Love,” he said, but it was unnecessary. It was written in the bat of his lashes, in the flush of his cheeks, in the glassiness of his eyes—all over his face.
I wrung my fingers in the empty space between us. God, there was nothing I wanted more than him right now.
But the shadows behind his stare, that demon clawing inside him—would it stay there forever, or would he one day fully transform?
I tugged on his hands, wrenching him off the floor. “How do I know this isn’t another one of your ploys?”
“Maybe it is.”
“To kill me?”
“To kiss you,” he said at the same time.
My heart might have actually stopped. “What?”
Tucking a finger beneath my chin, he tilted it up. “I want to kiss you. Will you stop me?”
“No,” I breathed, damning myself.
“Good.”
Dropping his forehead against mine, he leaned in. Noses grazing, lips brushing, savoring this moment, breathing it in as if we’d been starved of oxygen.
Mouths coming together, his chest caved against mine, warm and surrendering.
The firm press of him, the way his tongue slipped past my teeth, the way he caressed me as if he never wanted to let go… I lost myself in him, in his touch, in the way our hearts seemed to sync.
His lips were soft but greedy, and I gave and gave. Falling deeper into the kiss, into each other, we grasped at fabric and collars as if no one was watching, as if we had all the time in the world.
“Never again.” The pledge vibrated through me. He sealed it with another kiss, electric and longing.
I stared up at him, admiring all the secret features I loved: the two freckles on his cheeks, the ever-present furrow of his brow, the hidden dimples, the cutest little crooked bottom tooth.
He tucked a loose curl behind my ear, fingertips grazing my jaw, my neck, my collar. “Never again,” he repeated. “Never again do I want to live in a world where this”—a ragged whine of a breath—“doesn’t exist.”
“Maybe don’t try so hard to get rid of it this time?”
“Oh, she’s a smartass, now.” The drawl of his accent fluttered against my hair.
Slipping my palms between us, I pressed them against his pecs. “Seriously, Ry.”
A growl rumbled in his throat. “It drives me crazy when you call me that.”
I shot him a look. Eyes alight, he dished me one right back—attention flicking over every inch of my face, landing on my throat, where my skyrocketing pulse was flittering in that hollow part of my neck. Ugh. I was doomed.
Tucking my head under his chin, I rested my cheek in the open collar of his shirt.
He wrapped his arms around me tighter, cocooning me against his broad chest. “Never again.”
I breathed him in, the faint traces of leather, sea salt, and pine. The scent of us. The scent of home.
“Never again,” I repeated.