CHAPTER THREE #3
His eyes moved across my shoulders, to my arms, to all the places Geoffrey had grabbed, and sank his claws into me.
The nobleman’s intensity was startling, the fury inside him beginning to push its way out toward me.
But it didn’t taste dark, nor was it unfulfilling in the way most emotions I consumed were.
Anger was swallowed quickly by the Azete, but it left me hungry.
So was lust. This was different. What he was feeling for me right now was something else entirely, something light and filling.
It was protective. I could see it in the way his head tilted up, the way his fingers flexed, his hands balling again into fists as he continued his perusal over me. He was scanning me carefully, looking for injuries.
He wouldn’t find any. The scratches smoothed out within seconds, the cuts stitched back together from his touch. Somehow I hadn’t noticed, because the stream had been so constant. But he was pouring even more energy into me since we’d been alone. Feeding me. Strengthening me.
He came closer, his eyes searching mine, asking, no pleading, for permission.
“Please. I just wanted to help you. Can I?” he gestured to my hair.
Heart thrumming, I nodded, holding my breath as his fingers grazed my bare skin, sweeping my curls behind my back. He moved slowly, carefully, his touch soft. Gentle. Too gentle. His energy poured continuously into me, slowly, carefully.
A shiver ran down my spine. My bared shoulder was on display, and he was so close I could scent the spices and musk that clung to him, the mint on his breath as he let out a sharp exhale.
And I realized the mint was still fresh, still pure.
He hadn’t taken a drink downstairs. He’d lied about needing courage.
The only reason he’d come back to me was to help me.
My chest tightened, my stomach twisting. I couldn’t move as his hands swept the hair off my other shoulder, his fingers grazing down my back, his face moving even closer. Too close.
“See?” I whispered, barely daring to breathe. Terrified that if I moved even an inch, my glamour would fall. That I would lose control. “There’s nothing.”
His eyes widened, still searching. “But I saw. There was—How?” His mouth opened as he shook his head, speaking as if to himself. “No one’s injuries heal that quickly.”
My throat went dry.
No human injuries healed that quickly. But an Azete’s did. By fucking Batrir.
If he started to put the pieces together, I wasn’t going to need Geoffrey to betray me. I was already standing before my downfall. One word from him, and I’d be in prison.
I folded my arms across my chest, panic churning like the ocean in a storm through my body. I had to regain control. But my mind was whirring, and all I could manage was, “Why do you care so much about what happens to me?” More emotion coated my voice than I’d meant to express.
He frowned, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean why? Why wouldn't I?”
I scoffed. “Because most men wouldn’t.” Because no man ever had.
Because the second I thought I loved Jaron, that he loved me, too, I learned it was all a farce.
That I’d meant nothing to him. That I’d been just a body to control, a way for him to feed his own delusions of power and importance.
That I was just a way for him to build up his own ego.
A thing to fuck and use and humiliate and destroy, while all I wanted was to protect him.
The nobleman tilted his head back toward mine. “I thought we’d established that I don’t consider myself amongst most men.”
I searched his face. “Philosophical, kind, and gallant. You really do exhibit every quality a prince should have,” I said.
“You think I’m like a prince?” he asked.
I shrugged, not wanting to admit what I knew. That he looked just like him, that I didn’t know who he was, but knew they were related.
“Maybe.” I leaned in. “But unless you give me a name to distinguish you from the rest, I can’t help but continue to count you among them.”
“And here I thought my actions could speak for themselves.”
“Actions do speak louder than words. Sometimes. But not this time. This time I want more,” I said. “This time, I want to hear it.”
His chest heaved with a deep breath. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you need to know my name?” A flush rose up his neck.
“Because maybe if I knew your name, maybe I could call you by it. And maybe then you’d feel like what happens next between us would mean something.”
The flush on his skin deepened, rising to fill his cheeks.
“And besides, it’s only fair,” I met his eyes, “after all, you already have mine.”
His gaze smoldered. “I do. Samara.” Then he smiled, almost sadly, his green eyes searching mine. “But I already told you. Nothing is going to happen between us.”
“Are you so sure?” I asked.
“I am.” The fire crackled in the fireplace behind him. The room grew warmer.
“What if you don’t tell me your surname, or title?”
“And what would that leave you with?” he asked, his brows furrowing together.
“Something more than I have now. Something I want.” I tilted my head and bit my lip. “What do your friends call you?”
His eyes crinkled. “You’re not my friend.”
“Ah,” I said. “If I cannot even know that, you must have an impressive title.”
“Maybe. But title or not, you have my word. What happens in this room remains only between you and me, not anyone downstairs. And I swear to you, if this is all there is to be between us, a few moments with you, talking to you, debating with you, it was worth every coin I carried.”
He leaned even closer. The air felt heavy. My skin began to hum, and more of his energy poured into me. More of his—not lust. Not even desire. Not quite. It was something else. Something more. Something pure.
Something that the Azete hungered for, thirsted after.
But something that I coveted even more. Something I yearned for.
It flowed into me with a startling intensity.
He didn’t even realize. Didn’t know that for a second, his face slackened, his body registering the loss of his lifeforce even though his mind never would.
He was giving me almost as much as a man might when he found his release.
“You do flatter me,” I said. “We haven’t even touched.”
“That’s not true. We have. Like this.” He took my hand again, squeezing it gently. And I had the sudden urge to pull him closer, to tug his body against mine. I wanted his hands on my body, and my hands on his. I wanted our clothes off, our mouths crashing together.
Suddenly, hunger burned inside me, one I hadn’t felt in years. Because it was mine, not the Demonos’s, not the Azete’s that needed to touch and drink to survive.
It was me who wanted him. Just me. And I didn’t want to feed off of him.
I wanted to devour him. See him lose control, give in to the desire I knew he kept at bay. Hear what sorts of things he’d whisper against my skin in the heat of passion.
His head tilted toward mine so our foreheads nearly touched.
The curls of his hair tickled against my skin.
His breath was the only sound I could hear, and the scent of his oil, mixed with the natural musk of his body, filled all of my senses.
My lips could practically taste his against them.
They hummed in anticipation. One inch, one deep breath was all it would take for our heads to move, our lips to touch.
And I was losing the will to hold my place, to continue playing his game.
I barely had it in me to maintain the distance between us.
I felt as starved as the Azete did, a desire thrashing inside me unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I knew it wasn’t just me. I knew he felt it, too. He had to.
My thumb brushed over his hand, our fingers still clasped together.
“Is this truly all you plan to do with me?” I asked, my voice low and husky. And, for once, I hadn’t forced it to be.
“Yes,” he breathed into my mouth, his thumb stroking my skin in return. His eyes darkened as they lowered to my lips. “I won’t so much as kiss you.”
But Gods do I want to.
His thoughts rang in my mind. Fuck. The connection was deeper than I realized.
The air began to stagnate. The birds had stopped chirping outside, and the rushing roar of the wind ceased. Even the sound of the flames crackling in the fireplace began to fade. And there was nothing. Nothing in the entire world. Just him. Just me.
And for a second, his face seemed to change and transform right before my eyes.
But not in the way mine could. His features remained exactly the same, their size, their structure, their coloring.
But where I first saw memories of Jaron hidden in the shape of his curls, or whispering through the contour of his lips and eyes, I could no longer find him.
Not a hint of the prince who shared his blood remained.
The nobleman was his own person to me now. Separate from his family. He was kind and caring, sweet and as heroic as the stories of Kavrir.
I was beyond caring what his kiss would give me.
I just wanted to kiss him. Kiss him for the sake of kissing.
Feel his body on top of mine. Under mine.
Inside of mine. Not to feed. Not for power.
But the pleasure of it, for the feel of him, for the quiet intimacy of being with another person. One I wanted.
“Samara,” he breathed my name, the sound urgent and desperate. Almost begging.
“Tell me what to call you,” I pleaded.
And finally, at last, he thought of his name, offering it to me before he spoke it aloud in a hushed whisper.
“Brennan. My friends call me Brennan.”
“Brennan,” I breathed, my heart pounding.
“Yes,” he said.
I lifted up onto my toes. “Kiss me.”