Chapter 36 #3
I swallow, his words skipping down each vertebra of my spine like a rock thrown onto a river, casting ripples.
That’s what he’s doing. The way he’s looking at me, eyes searing in what might just be anger but might also be something else, makes heat spread through me, nerves alighting at his touch.
Especially when he carefully tucks that loose lock behind my ear.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my head spinning as we continue the dance. “And how?” He’s been chained to a wall for days. The last time I saw him, the shackles were still locked.
At his silence, realization sets in.
“You could break through those chains this entire time, couldn’t you?” I demand, thinking of all the times I hand-fed him. He must have enjoyed that in his twisted, horrible mind.
Why allow himself to be chained in the first place?
He ignores my second question. “I’m here to watch you play princess,” he says, eyes full of dark mirth. “I can see you were enjoying yourself …” He tilts his head at me, and his gaze sharpens. His voice turns cruel. “Are you that desperate for attention? Do you like having eyes on your bare skin?”
I glare at him. “Not yours,” I snarl as we move as one.
He grips my hand tighter, veins going taut like they do when he holds his sword, swallowing my fingers. He glares back at me. “I’m not a simple fool, distracted by something so ordinary as a woman’s body.”
Ordinary. My hold tightens on his shoulder, my nails digging in, which I hope is painful.
“So, none of these women have caught your attention?”
He blinks. He looks completely serious when he says, “There are other women here?”
Ridiculous bastard.
This is going to end the moment Vander spots him. The moment people realize the four immortal guards securing the perimeter are all dead. He’s ruined it. I take a look around, at this beautiful room, at this beautiful place, at the music.
I can feel his gaze following mine. I hear his huff of disdain.
“Beautiful things do not belong to us,” he says. Us. Humans. Questral challengers, fighting for drops of magic.
“I know,” I say, meaning it. “But I like to look anyway.”
Only then do I realize he has slowly been moving us toward the door.
No one else seems to notice. Vander Evren is on the other side of the room, attention completely fixed on a woman in a stunning gold dress.
He looks enraptured. And furious. His knuckles are white against his goblet.
I almost smile, seeing him so angrily transfixed.
I want to see more of this woman who has completely captured his notice, but Raker drags me into the hall.
“What are you—”
Before I can say a word, Raker has me in his arms, and there’s the slam of doors behind us. We’re in a crimson room.
I slip from his hold and am about to knee him in the groin when he grips behind my leg and spins me so my spine hits the wall.
“Cute,” he says, glowering down at me, his hand still curled beneath my knee, pulled in an angle against his body.
To anyone walking in, we would look like a couple. A couple doing anything but glaring at each other, baring our teeth at each other.
“What are you doing?” I growl.
“He is parading you.”
I scoff. “Do you think I care? Do you think I have any remaining shame?”
“You should.”
“Why? I’ll be dead soon anyway, right?” I say, throwing his own words back at him.
He doesn’t like that. His eyes narrow. He leans in, opening his mouth to no doubt insult me further, but then he pauses. He ducks slowly, nose nearly touching my jaw.
Then, he goes rigid. “I can smell him all over you,” he snarls. His eyes are alight with nothing short of fury.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you were jealous,” I counter.
“Good thing you know better,” he growls, our lips just inches apart. We’re both breathing too quickly, both fuming.
Just at that moment, the doors fly open.
It’s the heir of House Harlow. Magnus. He must have heard my protests. Or maybe he saw me get shoved into this room. His hand is on his sword. He’s here to defend me.
It’s almost endearing.
Raker will kill him without a second thought. And though I have no interest in him whatsoever, his is the only oath I’ve secured. Also, he did seem halfway decent, which seems to be a rarity in this castle.
We don’t need the entire ball up in arms.
So I do what I think is the best solution.
I take Raker’s face in my hands and pull his mouth toward mine.
His eyes widen.
Widen.
We have almost been ripped apart by demons. We have survived a deadly mist and bog, crawling with beasts. We have gone days without food or water. We have faced countless dangers.
Never once have I seen Raker seem this terrified.
His arm juts out against the wall, stopping my lips half an inch from his. He bares his teeth and glares at me.
Stubborn idiot.
My lips slip down his neck instead, and I feel him tense beneath me. “Pretend,” I whisper against his skin, and if anything, he stills even more. But he doesn’t back away. No. He moves closer.
I groan, pretending but also not being able to help myself, as I breathe in the fresh smell of his incredible, intoxicating soap. I’m going to need to ask him what’s in it, if we get out of here alive. Whatever it is, it’s my favorite.
I blame the soap for what I do next—which is to lean in very slowly, making my intent known. Waiting for him to pull back. When he doesn’t, just like in the underground under the fire demon’s influence, I press my lips against his throat and suck against his pulse.
Fuck. His soap is like a drug. I want more. His heartbeat races beneath my tongue. In anger, I’m sure. I hear a sharp inhale, and ready myself for Raker to rip away, to take a step back. To not, in fact, pretend.
But then his hand touches my spine, ever so slightly, pulling me toward him like a beckoning and I shamelessly taste him, stroking his heated skin with my tongue, nipping and sucking, until my head is spinning.
Heat floods through me. This is too far.
I pull away, miming, but not touching, not anymore.
Until I feel his fingers curl tighter around the back of my knee. My leg is still up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the glittering dizziness of this night. Maybe it’s the soap? But I arch my back against the wall, leaning into him just the slightest bit.
He leans in too, caging me in. Pressing himself against me, right between my legs. And that’s when I feel it.
He’s hard.
My eyes fly back up to his. He’s pinning me with his gaze, as if daring, just daring me to say anything. I don’t. All I do is slowly drag myself against his considerable length, blood roaring at the friction, at his size, as both of us take a shared breath—
Steps sound across the room, and the doors close again.
Raker moves so quickly away from me that I have to grasp the wall for purchase so as not to slip down it.
Halfway to an insult, I freeze, then gently peel my arms away from the sticky wall. They’re covered in crimson.
“Who would paint right before a ball?” I ask, frowning down at the dark red all over my dress and skin, the same red coating the rest of the walls and the hand Raker used to keep our lips apart.
“That’s not paint,” Raker says, staring at his palm.
Our eyes meet in an instant.
“Huh,” Raker says. He almost sounds impressed.
“What?”
“Vander Evren is a bloodbane.”
The click of a door has us both turning around.
Vander is standing there holding the head of one of his guards, the one that Raker so cavalierly slayed. “And what do you know about bloodbanes, human?”