Chapter 23
Derian
She’s distant.
She responds to my questions easily enough, still just as evasive as ever, but her eyes are withdrawn, her mind elsewhere.
If I wasn’t so curious about what preoccupied her, I might be a little offended.
Still, I make her stay seated at the table until every bit of food is cleaned from her plate. Then, I order her an iced cinnamon bun and watch as she eats that too, stealing bites every now and then for myself, much to her chagrin.
I thought my interest in her was purely sexual, but I have to admit that just sitting with her, eating and drinking, swapping teasing barbs at one another, is oddly… nice.
It really is a shame she won’t survive the Conclave.
I keep reminding myself of that.
I know she’s hiding things from me, and at this point I’m pretty sure I know what she’s hiding. Still, even if she somehow managed to kill my guard in Velia, there’s no way a Mortal girl is surviving a Conclave. It’s simply not possible.
When she finishes eating, I grab her hand and pull her to her feet.
“Let’s go,” I instruct, keeping her fingers locked in mine even when she tries to pull away. If I only get one night with her to pretend that her death isn’t inevitable, I want to soak in every second of her skin touching mine.
I lead her through the tavern, through the throngs of patrons, out the back door to our horses, and guide us back to the fortress wordlessly, feeling the impending end of the evening like a pressing weight.
The grounds of the fortress are quiet when we arrive. Night patrols have started, but the majority of the warriors are already in bed for the evening, leaving the space empty and illuminated only by the faint torchlight of the sconces along the wall.
“Well, I’ll show myself back to my room,” she says, tossing a leg over the back of her horse and dismounting easily.
I don’t offer to help her. I want to. I want to grasp hold of her and pull her body towards mine, but it doesn’t seem wise after she nearly bit my head off when I reached for her waist earlier.
She pats the horse gently when she’s steady on her feet again, smiling at the steed. She rode the beast straddled the whole way, rather than the sidesaddle way the court ladies typically prefer.
And she rode it comfortably.
She’d done it like she’d ridden a horse straddled a thousand times before.
Huntyr glances at me over her shoulder before taking a step back towards the path that leads to her room, and I don’t even think before I’m reaching for her.
“I’m not done with you,” I tell her, taking her hand once more.
She looks down at our intertwined fingers with suspicion in her eyes, but she doesn’t remove her hand from mine. “I can follow directions, you know? If you tell me to walk, I will, you don’t need to drag me.”
I fight the urge to smile as I pull her along behind me. “Maybe I just like touching you.”
“Liar,” she grumbles.
That actually hadn’t been a lie.
I lead her to the throwing targets, unsure of why I’ve brought her here.
The logical part of me says I did it just to assess her skills, to see if she’s hiding some talent behind a pretense.
That other part of me, the part that I’m choosing not to acknowledge, just doesn’t want to send her back to her room quite yet.
I need a little longer in her presence. A little longer with her scent filling my nostrils. A little more of this verbal sparring that keeps me constantly on my toes.
I’m certainly not ready to go back to my bed with the memory of her fresh in my mind and only my imagination to satisfy me.
It’s been hours since that little comment, and I haven’t been able to get the image of her touching herself in the tub out of my head. It’s the exact reaction she’d wanted me to have, and damn if she hadn’t been successful.
There’s no sum in the kingdom I wouldn’t pay to be able to watch her do that, her skin illuminated by candles, blue eyes locked onto mine as she falls into oblivion.
I shake my head, pulling myself forcefully back to reality.
She looks at the targets with a frown, that line forming between her brows. The wind blows slightly, blowing back the tendrils of dark hair that have escaped her braid and fallen near her ears. Even in the darkness of the night, her eyes are brilliantly bright, as if lit up by some unnatural force.
“Are we practicing?” She nods towards the targets.
“We’re playing,” I tell her, reaching down to pull out my blades—two from my waistband and one from my boot. Gently, I sit them on the wooden banister that separates us from the throwing range.
Then I eye her, and before I can stop myself, I wrap an arm around her waist and rip her to me, pulling her right thigh high against my hip.
With speed that’s remarkably impressive for a Mortal, she wraps her delicate fingers around one of the daggers I’ve discarded and presses it to the skin of my throat, the pressure gentle but threatening, nonetheless.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, doesn’t show the nervousness others might when faced with the possibility of having to harm another. Her fingers are completely steady.
I grin.
Slowly, deliberately, I slide my fingers up her thigh.
Huntyr stiffens but doesn’t move. She doesn’t pull away, nor does she move her blade deeper into my skin.
Without breaking eye contact, I trace the leather that sits tight around her leg. I run my hand down that muscled thigh pulled against my hip, so tightly I can feel the warmth of her. And I savor that slight hitch in her breath.
Then I wrap my fingers around the hilt of the dagger strapped to her leg and pull it free, sitting it next to the others.
She glances towards it quickly, but then those icy eyes are back on mine. I hold her to me for just another moment, memorizing the feeling of her body in my grip, before I release her. She takes a stumbling step backwards, her cheeks flushed.
“Two throws each,” I explain, nodding to the blades.
“I could have gotten it myself.” There's an attitude in her voice, but a hint of breathlessness too, and that impressive speed seems to have vanished as she slowly takes another step away from me.
“My way was more fun,” I tease, lifting a dagger and tossing it with nothing more than a quick glance at the target.
I hear it sink into the wood and don’t bother looking away from her to confirm that it landed in the center. That much is obvious from the purse of her lips and the way she lifts one brow in irritation.
“Do you always feel the need to show off?”
Wiggling my brows, I gesture to the blades. “Your turn.”
She rolls her eyes, picks up the blade, and tosses it carelessly. It doesn’t even make it to the target before losing air and falling to the ground.
I click my tongue admonishingly. “How embarrassing for you.”
She whips her head towards me, her braid flying over her shoulder as she does. “Don’t be rude!”
Her cheeks have flushed with her irritation, a slight rush of pink on her tanned skin. It seems unhealthy for me to be even more attracted to her when she’s angry with me, but here we are.
Reaching past her, I invade her space once more to pick up the next blade. This time, she doesn’t step back. She’s adjusted to this game, and she’s unwilling to surrender a single inch. I look at the board before I throw again, the dagger hitting true once more. Exactly where I wanted it.
Glancing at her sideways, I pick up the last blade and press it into her palm. Before she realizes what I’m doing, I slide behind her, trailing my fingers up her arm as I do.
She tries to hide her shiver, but I feel it against me nonetheless, and that gives me no small amount of satisfaction.
“It’s polite to let the Lady win,” she says in a hushed, breathy tone.
That sound. That is the way I’ll imagine her voice sounding once I’m alone in my room tonight.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of creature who likes to have things handed to her easily.”
She huffs, and I take a step closer so that my chest is flush against her backside. She fits against me perfectly as I grasp onto her hips and pull her against my body.
“I could teach you, though,” I say softly, leaning down to speak into her ear.
Her breathing seems to halt entirely, and I don’t bother fighting against my self-satisfied grin.
She leans back against me slightly, so subtly that I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it.
But I certainly do. I’m aware of every single move this woman makes.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I drag my hands up her waist, making my way to the wrist of the hand that grasps the dagger with white knuckles. “It’s quite simple—”
The blade is flying through the air, splitting the wood of the target with a heavy thud before I can even finish my sentence.
Dead. Fucking. Center.
“Guess I’m a quick learner.” She shrugs, stepping away from me with a smirk that lights my blood on fire.
Magic roars in my veins, and I don’t quite know if it’s from anger and my suspicion about her or if it’s just a reaction to her.
Because, Gods, if watching her throw that dagger with her ass pressed against me wasn’t the hottest thing I’d seen in a decade.
“Good throw,” I compliment her dryly. I wonder if she knows what she’s doing to me. If she’s playing with me the way I am with her. “But I still won.”
“Too bad we weren’t playing for anything.”
My lips quirk into a grin, and I walk forward, forcing her back against the railing, and place my arms on either side of her. Boxing her in. “I always play for prizes.”
The air is thick between us. Her tongue darts out over her lower lip, and suddenly I know in my bones that she feels it too. She’s just as affected as I am.
She doesn’t want to be, but she’s just as caught up in this crackling energy that exists between us.
“Well then, what do you want, Derian?” Huntyr asks softly, her eyes dipping to my lips for just the briefest moment.
Without meaning to, I'm leaning down, angling my head towards her. Feeling her breath against my lips.
What do I want?
I’m not quite sure I know.
Her, of course.
But do I want her secrets, or do I simply want her laid bare beneath me, screaming my name?
Both?
“What would you be willing to give me, Huntyr?”
She’s breathing deeply, but she doesn’t shove me away, not even when I push past that final inch between us so that our hips are completely aligned. Her body is small next to mine, delicate even while she’s strapped in leather and muscle.
I could kiss her right now. Close that gap between us and tangle my tongue with hers.
Finally find out what she tastes like. Lose my hands in her hair and hold her exactly where I want her.
And if how she’s looking at me right now is any indication, I actually think she’d let me.
I think she might push herself onto that railing, hook her legs around my waist, and kiss me so thoroughly I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking things further.
She wouldn’t be a gentle lover.
She’s built of the toughest form of steel, covered in ice, and hardened into something positively unbreakable. Huntyr wouldn’t want a lover to coddle her and gently kiss her.
She would want to fuck as hard as she fights.
It would be so easy to finally release this tension that is eating me alive.
We’re walking the line, threatening to dance right over it.
I’m just about to do it. She’s tilting her head backwards, the invitation silent but undeniable. And Gods, I want to.
But if we go there, I’m not sure we’d ever recover.
Not sure I’d ever recover.
“I’ll save my prize for another time, Lady Lachlan.” Stepping away from her is undeniably painful. “You should get to bed for now. Big day tomorrow.”
She bristles when I use her title, but after a moment's hesitation she nods and walks back through the courtyard to the stone pathway that leads to her room without a single word of goodbye.
I watch every step she takes, staring unabashedly at the sway of her hips. I’m still looking at that pathway long after she’s left, idly tossing one of the blades between my hands.
I shouldn’t want her as badly as I do, not when the truth of her involvement in the assassination of my guard seems to be so obvious.
She’s been careful. She’s kept her cards close to her chest.
No one else would suspect a thing.
But I do.
I see the assessment in her eyes whenever she steps into a new space.
I see the careful calmness that takes over her when she’s faced with danger.
I see the calluses on her hands and the ease with which she picks up weapons.
I see her clear hatred for my kind.
Huntyr Lachlan most likely murdered my guard.
And despite that suspicion, it takes every bit of resolve in me not to follow her, push her against a wall, and memorize every inch of her body.
I want her. Desperately. Impossibly.
Magic rushes in me again with a mind of its own, nearly pushing me after her. Wind rushes through the courtyard, and the air thickens with humidity. Lady Lachlan may have just found herself in the eye of my storm.
Gods help us both.