Chapter 22 #2
I smile as I remember one of those nights when I’d climbed on a table to sing off-key and demanded that he join me.
He hadn’t, but several other men had. And when one had gotten a bit too handsy, I’d knocked him out with one well-aimed punch.
Flannigan and I had instantly looked at each other, very aware of the brawl that was about to break out.
We moved quickly, dodging blows and landing those of our own, until he pulled me off the table by my waist and we ran from the pub laughing at the chaos we’d caused.
This place looks… calmer than that. There’s no hint of violence hanging in the air. No one else seems to be watching for threats. No one is exchanging money or forbidden substances under the table. Everyone simply seems to be enjoying themselves.
How boring.
Derian waves over a waiter and orders two pints of ale, handing over a gold coin in payment before turning to me with expectant eyes.
“What?” I sigh. How long are we expected to make this little outing last?
He purses his lips, his attention focused entirely on me. “You’re dressed in leathers.”
I glance down at myself. “Am I supposed to be impressed by your observational skills?”
“The others wore gowns. You are wearing fighting leathers and are strapped with at least three weapons.” His eyes heat slightly as his gaze slides down my torso. “I suspect there might be more that I can’t see, though.”
There are.
The waiter brings out our drinks and I pull mine to my mouth, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need for something to calm my stomach. “Would you have preferred if I dressed up for you?”
He laughs softly, the sound sending a rush over my skin. “I care very little about what you wear, Lady Lachlan.”
“Huntyr,” I remind him, barely able to keep the irritation from my voice.
His eyes narrow and he watches me for a long time as I continue nursing my drink.
“Huntyr,” he finally agrees with an incline of his head.
“And who’s the liar now?”
“What makes you think that’s a lie?” he asks with a furrowed brow, the question genuine and not teasing.
I smirk. “You clearly enjoyed the gown I wore last night.”
He doesn’t try to hide when his gaze drops to my breasts, now perfectly covered. “That was a sight indeed, but I wasn’t lying. Whether you wear leathers, a gown, or a burlap sack makes no difference, I’d still prefer to see you naked.”
My breath halts, even my heartbeat seems to skip a bit.
Has this game between us come that far?
Not to be outdone, I lean forward, determined to throw him just as off-balance. “I do look my finest without anything hiding my best assets, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to use your imagination.”
“Oh I do.” He smiles softly, the expression positively wicked, and I ignore the rush of wetness between my thighs as his eyes spread warmth to every place they trace over me. “I use my imagination every single night.”
The thought of that—of him pleasuring himself to imaginations of me—should disgust me. It really should.
But it only fills me with a sick satisfaction and an unhealthy amount of curiosity. Suddenly, I’m picturing him, on the brink of release, his plentiful muscles tensed, his eyes closed, my name on his lips.
My voice is a bit breathier than I intend when I respond. “What a shame you have only your imagination to keep you company.”
“Why bring another woman into my bed when the one in my mind is so much more intriguing?”
I snort. “Well I do hope the woman in your mind is fulfilling, considering the real one won’t be joining you anytime soon.”
He tilts his head in a soft acknowledgement that suggests the version of me in his head is not fulfilling at all before he drinks deeply. “And you, Huntyr? Is the Eshari the only thing keeping your bed warm?”
Wouldn’t he like to know.
“That’s a rather forward question to ask a Lady, don’t you think?”
“Yes it is. It’s a question a Lady would never expect to be asked, but you have never been one to meet expectations, if memory serves me right.”
Fine, two can play that game. If I was going to be left flushed and unable to remove that image of him from my mind, then it was only fair for him to have to suffer, too.
“Well,” I bite my lip slowly, knowing he notices every time I do. “You have us training every day in that courtyard.”
“I do.”
“And there are so many other Fae training there.”
His jaw works. His knuckles twitch slightly before tightening on his glass.
“I can’t help but to notice them,” I continue, a smile playing at the edges of my lips. “They’re all so beautiful and so strong. So many of them fight shirtless, and when they’re finished, they’re covered in sweat. It’s quite the sight.”
“What exactly is your point, Huntyr?” He growls. The window next to us rattles with a sudden gust of wind. I fight my laughter. He really does make it too easy to rile him up.
“Well, after such stimulating days, I’m often very tense when I return to my room in the evenings. So, to relax, I usually strip the leathers off of my body, crawl into my tub, and let the hot water rush all over my skin.”
I don’t even think he’s breathing. His knuckles on that glass are white. “And then what do you do?”
Slowly, I lean forward and run my forefinger across the line of his jaw. He leans into my touch, eyes trailing to my mouth, his gaze dark and filled with desire.
“Use your imagination,” I say, before flicking his nose and leaning back in my seat.
He stares at me for a long moment, at first with lust, then with frustration, then with something that looks a lot like wry amusement as he shakes his head. “What a tease you are.”
I fight back laughter and shrug, satisfied with having won this little round of our game.
“So,” I draw out the word as I glance around the room, needing to change the topic. “Is this how you impress most women?”
I earn a mischievous grin from him.
“No,” he says. “You’re special.”
“Lucky me,” I reply sarcastically, watching three Fae males at the bar race to finish their drinks. One yells victoriously as he finishes, slamming his glass on the counter while a second sputters and begins coughing violently.
“Tell me what Velia is like,” he commands suddenly, pulling my attention back to him.
The question is innocent enough, but there’s something hidden under the words that makes me bristle. Perhaps it’s the seriousness of his eyes, or the way he leans forward ever so slightly, like he’s too eager for my answer.
“You visited,” I reply, keeping myself guarded.
“I didn’t grow up there,” he grins. “What was your childhood like?”
Violent. Bloody. Tragic. Traumatic.
“Like any other Mortal girl. What was childhood like in the Fae kingdom?”
Derian leans back in the booth, crossing his hands behind his head, before giving me a nonchalant shrug. “Fae live longer than Mortals. I’m nearly two hundred and sixteen years old. I hardly remember my childhood.”
I feel out his words, letting them fall over me as I assess him and tilt my head with narrowed eyes. “You’re lying.”
He grins. “So are you.”
So, we’re going to be playing another game, then.
I roll out my shoulders, matching his relaxed posture, painfully aware that this game is remarkably less fun and more dangerous than our simple flirtation.
“Did you have many friends when you were at school?” he asks.
I thought of Kristona, Flannigan, and the other members of the League of Assassins.
“A few,” I answer, mixing truth into the ruse. “They were all a bit older than me, but as close as family.”
“But you didn’t have family,” he reminds me, his expression unreadable. “Right?”
This outing is starting to feel more like an interrogation than an opportunity for bonding.
I don’t like it, and I certainly don’t want this conversation to turn towards my family.
The family I lost at the hands of his kind.
“Why all the questions?”
“We’re bonding,” he says nonchalantly with a shrug.
“Are we?”
A pause of quiet settles between us, both of us on edge and trying to suss out the other. Derian takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.
“How are those headaches of yours? You haven’t asked for any pain tonics.”
A wave of surprise hits me, both that he remembers my headaches and that I’d managed to forget them. I’ve been getting them a few times a week for years, but haven’t had a single one since we arrived in the Fae kingdom.
“They haven’t been bothering me,” I answer him truthfully. “I’m sure they’ll come back once life settles down a little.”
If I live through the Conclave, that is.
Derian watches me again, that strange expression on his face, as if he's thinking through a million different things at once. As if he’s trying to figure out a mystery he can’t quite solve.
“Have you eaten tonight?” he asks with furrowed brows. Once again, I’m stunned by the sudden change in topic.
I frown. “Why?”
“You haven’t, have you?” He stands, out of the booth before I’ve even had a chance to answer. “Stay here.”
And then he’s gone, making his way through the crowd effortlessly to approach the barkeep. I watch him for a moment, noticing absently that he’s nearly a foot taller than everyone else in the room.
It’s not just his height that sets him apart, though. It’s the magic that seems to drip off of him, so much stronger than anyone else’s. It’s the sheer confidence with which he moves through the space. It’s the way the torchlight catches on the skin of his jawline.
I shouldn’t be so desperate to watch him, and yet, I can’t turn away.
I’m not the only one either. Several of the Fae females eye him. I can’t tell if it’s because they know they’re in the same room with their prince or because he’s impossible to not look at.
Probably both.
The thought leaves me with a sticky, uncomfortable feeling that I wash down with another chug of the ale.
“This table free?”