Chapter 26 #3
Mechanically, Lory took the silk from his outstretched hand and stalked around the bronze brocade divan at the side and vanished behind the leather privacy screen, the sensation in her chest easing the slightest bit, as if someone had released their hold on the thread that always seemed to pull taut whenever she walked away from the man who didn’t love her, yet couldn’t seem to keep away from her.
Whose words contradicted that one sentence that had shattered the trust Lory had built little by little.
Yes, he was still a rebel hiding in plain sight. Yes, he still saved students meant to be burned beneath the school. And yes, he was still the best-looking fucking bastard she’d ever laid eyes on.
And her heart wouldn’t stop throbbing for him.
Stop acting like a pining girl, she told herself, tossing the silk pieces onto the stool in the corner and stripping out of her clothes.
The dress waiting for her was simple but elegant.
Wine-red lace wrapped around an inconspicuous bodice the color of the underthings.
Flowing skirts of the same red would have invited Lory to want to spin in a dance under different circumstances, but as she put the underthings on first, then the gown over them, she could feel the phantom stickiness of blood on her hands. Blood she was about to spill.
“I assume we’re going back to the palace?”
On the other side of the screen, fabrics shifted and silk sighed against skin.
“You assume right.”
She tugged the neckline into place, making the undershirt disappear save for an edge of sandy lace covering the tops of her breasts.
The skirts were heavy enough not to billow in the breeze sweeping through the room from the open window, yet light enough to move efficiently.
Pockets were sewn into both sides at her hips—not pockets.
Openings that allowed her to reach through the skirt to her undergarments.
At her back, the strings of the light corset still hung open, and Lory hated to admit she needed help.
“This hideous thing isn’t my style at all,” she said as she stepped out from behind the screen, catching Khayrivven buttoning up his sand-colored shirt.
He was wearing black pants of a light, elegant material, and knee-high boots, and his hands were fumbling with a button at the high collar of his shirt.
“I’ll lace you in if you button me up,” he offered with a half-smile. An apology, Lory thought, but his eyes were full of a wildness she’d rarely seen. The last time, perhaps, when he’d undressed her in his rooms.
Once more, Lory’s heart throbbed.
Carefully, she stepped around the chair where Khayrivven had deposited his clothes and reached for the button in question.
He turned his chin an inch, a shadow of stubble scratching the top of Lory’s hands as he glanced down as if to make sure she got the right button, but when she dared look up, his eyes were on her face, drinking in her features.
“I need to t—” He cut himself off, teeth digging into his lower lip as he turned his gaze to the ceiling, and Lory’s heart sank at the warring emotions on his features.
“Yes?” She didn’t realize her hands were resting on his chest until he took a step away, her fingers gliding down his front until she pulled back her hands.
“Turn around.”
She felt his eyes on her back like a brand, grazing the bare skin where the corset hung open and the camisole didn’t cover her up.
Carefully… so painfully slowly, Khayrivven’s fingers laced through the strings, pulling them tight. With every new segment he worked on, his knuckles brushed over her spine, sliding easily on the silk of her undergarments, and with each time, she fought the moan building in her throat.
“I’ll leave this loose enough for you to move efficiently,” he narrated as he worked on the small of her back. “We don’t want you to lose your breath in case we get into a real fight or need to run.”
A mission. This was for a mission, not for pleasure. And Khayrivven hadn’t forgotten that, no matter the thoughts he wasn’t ready to unveil. At the bottom of the corset, his hands stilled, fingers branching to the side, wrapping around the edge of her waist, and Lory’s breath hitched.
“There you go,” he said with a dark chuckle she couldn’t fully place. “Now all you need is some proper weaponry, and nothing will be able to stop you.”
Lory turned between his palms, finding Khayrivven close enough to feel his breath on her face. Warm and scented with mint and spices.
For a moment, they just stood there, neither speaking a word, and the world ceased to exist. When finally he removed his hands, the daylight had started to fade, and Lory knew the moment was over.
With three long strides, Khayrivven crossed the room, sidestepping the sofa at the center and opening another drawer.
When he turned around again, a pair of elegant black boots was dangling from his left hand and a slender weapons belt from the right.
“Put these on,” he said with the tone of the captain, but his eyes were tender as he set the boots down in front of her and handed her the belt before returning to the dresser and opening the next drawer to extract a clinking assortment of blades.
By the time he joined her once more, Lory had stepped into her boots and laced them.
She was testing her freedom to move in them and finding it more than satisfactory when Khayrivven knelt in front of her, his gray eyes sparking as she stared down at him with a blend of fear and excitement over what was to come.
Unceremoniously, he set down the heap of weapons at his side and reached for the belt Lory had strapped on above her gown.
“This,” he explained as he unbuckled the black leather, “belongs underneath your skirts, not above.” He pulled the loose belt off her waist and sat back on his heels to gather her skirts with his free hand.
“Here, hold this.” He shoved the crumpled folds into her hands, gesturing for her to keep them out of his way.
Entirely ignoring Lory’s wince, he reached beneath the rustling fabrics, efficiently slinging the strap around her waist and tightening it.
When he was done, he picked up a hunting knife, attaching its scabbard to her belt and tying the strings at the bottom of the sheath to her thigh.
Lory tried not to shudder as he worked, tried not to remember what his mouth felt like on her bare skin.
How those fingers knew exactly how to work her into sweet oblivion.
And Guardians be damned, a slow smile crept across Khayrivven’s face.
“You know you can’t keep doing this,” he said without glancing up, already picking up a second knife and strapping it to her other hip.
“Doing what?” As his fingers slid beneath the belt to attach the scabbard, she couldn’t suppress a shudder.
Khayrivven tied the strings around her thigh so painfully slowly, she nearly moaned as his callouses scraped over the inside of her leg, just above her knee.
“Pouring your dirty little thoughts from your mind right into mine.” Not pausing his handiwork, he glanced up at her from beneath thick, black lashes, and the light in his eyes spoke of more than just the heat of carnal desire.
“Not if you want me to stop tying your weapons to your body.”
“What else are you thinking of doing?” The thought hopped out of her without her permission, and this time, Khayrivven abandoned the knife, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in, nose brushing her thigh all the way to the lace trim of her undergarments.
“Despicable things, Lory. Things that will make what I’ve done with you so far look like the work of a boy.”
Heat pooled in Lory’s core as Khayrivven’s breath heated her skin.
Forcing down a slow inhale, Lory dropped her skirts onto his head and took a step back, watching him fumble his way out from under them.
With a shake of his head, he got to his feet, sheathing knives in his boots, his sleeves, and in the dusty-blue jacket he put over his silken shirt.
As he handed her two more knives to place in the compartments hidden in her own boots, Khayrivven fixed her with a look.
“You’re playing with literal fire, Elory Vednis.
One of these days, either you or I will burn. ”
He didn’t say anything else as he gestured for her to follow him from the room.