FOUR #2
Thane lets out a low, frustrated growl, his hands still tight on my waist, his body still pressed against mine, radiating heat and unfinished intent.
“Whoever that is better be ready to die.” His voice is gritted, dangerous—one breath away from committing an act of war.
Then, with unbearable reluctance, he pushes off me, like it’s a great effort to step away. Before I can even process the loss of his warmth, he grabs the blanket and throws it over me, covering me completely.
Good thing because my sleeping gown is currently bunched above my hips.
Thane yanks the door open, breathing uneven, jaw tight, radiating unfinished intent.
And there stands Garrick. Smug, not a care in the world—until he actually sees us. Until he registers what he’s interrupted.
His gaze flicks down. He freezes.
His eyes widen, darting between me and Thane, taking in everything.
Thane’s shirt—untucked, rumpled, his sleeves still shoved up, like he never intended to be this undressed but somehow ended up that way.
Me—hair tangled, lips swollen, my sleeping gown barely clinging to one shoulder.
The bed—gods. The sheets messy, furs thrown back, the imprint of our bodies still visible.
And the final, damning detail?
Thane.
His eyes sharp, his body still taut with something restrained, his fists clench at his sides—like the only thing keeping him from finishing what we started is the fool standing in the doorway.
Garrick raises his hands in surrender. “Oh. Oh no.” His gaze drops—then snaps back up so fast I almost feel bad for him. “Nope. Nope. This can wait.”
“You should have knocked.” Thane’s voice is gravel, edged with steel.
“I did knock!” Garrick says quickly, taking a careful step back. “I knocked three times. This is not on me.”
Thane angles his head, unimpressed. “And yet you’re still standing here.”
Garrick clears his throat. “Well, I—look, in my defense, I didn’t expect—” He throws up both hands like this is somehow our fault. “Why’d you open the bloody door?!”
“You should have expected,” Thane growls.
Garrick tries to keep his eyes on Thane’s face. He fails. Glances down—then recoils like he’s been cursed. His entire face blanches, his hands going up higher, his head shaking furiously.
“I—I am so sorry.” His voice cracks slightly, pure, profound regret washing over him in waves. “I did not mean to—” He gestures vaguely toward Thane’s very obvious predicament. “Interrupt . . . that.”
Thane does not blink. I bury my face in my hands.
“Oh, what’s this?” Rowena’s voice.
Because of course.
Garrick’s entire body stiffens. “Oh gods, Rowena, no—”
Too late. She appears behind him, peeks in, assesses the situation in exactly one second—and grins. “I knew it! Well done, Amara!”
By all the Elemental gods, no.
I groan, collapsing back on the bed and flinging an arm over my face. Why wouldn’t this happen? Again.
The gods have made their position on my sex life very clear.
Rowena is laughing outside the door. Rowena! Thane’s sister!
And Garrick is stammering like an executioner is behind him.
And Thane is seconds away from throwing someone through a wall.
I yank the blanket over my head. “I give up.”
Thane stands there, breathing heavily, his entire body coiled with frustration. His fists clench at his sides. Then—without a word—he slams the door. Hard.
“Oh, he’s mad.” Rowena’s muffled cackle comes from the other side.
“I genuinely feared for my life,” Garrick mutters.
“Oh, you should,” Thane calls back, his voice deadly.
I snort from under the blanket.
Rowena knocks—again. “Thane, come on. You can’t avoid us forever.”
I finally peek at him from under the blanket.
Thane braces both hands on the door, fingers flexing like he might rip it off the hinges if he so much as breathes.
“Watch me,” he grits out.
From the other side, Rowena snorts.
“You sound mad,” Rowena sing-songs. “I’d say you need to relax, but . . . judging by the situation, you were already working on that.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Thane does not share my amusement.
“Rowena,” he growls, voice low, deadly, full of warning.
There’s a shuffle—the sound of boots scuffing against the floor, then Rowena cackling as Garrick drags her away.
Thane exhales sharply, fingers pressing into the door as if sheer force of will is the only thing keeping him from making very bad decisions.
Unable to stop myself, I make an obvious observation. “You look tense, Warlord.”
Thane turns his eyes dark, unreadable for a breath. Then his gaze drops. To my lips. To my throat. To the way my sleeping gown falls off one shoulder . . . evidence of everything that just happened.
And as he moves, the light silhouettes him—I see it. The hard, thick press of him, straining against the confines of his leathers, tension coiled in every line of his body.
My want for him sparks, then pools, deep and hot.
When he speaks, his voice is low. “This isn’t over.”
My pulse skips.
He takes a step towards me. “Not even close.”
I forget how to breathe.
He closes the distance, each measured step heavier than the last. When he reaches the bed, he doesn’t ask. He just sits, close enough to burn.
“Next time,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that I can feel his breath ghost across my cheek, “I’m warding the entire floor.”
Before I can even process what just happened, before I can throw myself at him and make absolutely sure he follows through on that promise, Thane exhales. He tilts his head back like a man silently cursing fate.
Then, through clenched teeth—“But not now.”
The words snap me out of it. “What?”
“I have to go.”
“Go where?!” I ask, squeezing my thighs together. Gods almighty, what am I going to do with this buildup?
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “The council. The ball. Security.”
The words don’t land all at once. They pile. Council. Ball. Security. It’s like everyone’s memorized the script but no one told me I was cast.
I drop the blanket so it only covers the lower half of my body as I sit up quickly. “I’m sorry—what?”
“A grand, royal, extravagant event to celebrate you,” Thane says flatly.
I blink. “A ball?”
“Yes.”
I stare at him. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s already happening. They’ve been planning it for weeks.”