15 #2
Sometime between finding him in the east wing yesterday and lunchtime today, he’d shaved. As he stumbled through the first page, I pondered when—tried to recall if I’d noticed it at lunch when he’d passed our table.
Snagged by the word “risen,” he stopped. His accent made it trickier each time he tried to pronounce it. “Reessen.”
“Risen.” I emphasized the “z” although it was spelled with an “s.”
“Reezon,” he said.
I smiled. “Better.” Then I tapped the first sentence of the story. “You got through this fairly well.”
“I remembered the words,” he said without an ounce of hesitation or embarrassment. “From when you read them.”
“That’s how you learn. Listening, remembering, and repetition. Try again. Risen,” I said slowly.
He repeated after me, then moved on. “The great stag was tall. Of course…” He stopped and shook his head slightly. “Of course, he was tall. He was a great stag after all.” His lips twitched.
“See?” I laughed. “If it’s silly, it helps you to remember it better.”
“I will remember it for the rest of my days.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment.
His eyes slid to my mouth. My stomach squirmed. The parchment crinkled in his clenching fingers until I murmured, “Keep going.”
He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the story. “But the river,” he paused, “roosh—rushed,” he amended with a jerk of his head. He swallowed, then said, “At the bank.”
“Good,” I said. “You listen very well, or you know some basics.”
“Both.” He frowned at the picture of the stag and licked his lips. “There haven’t been many opportunities to read since I was small.”
As he tripped through the next couple of words, I wondered why. Surely, they had plenty of books at Palace Valadorn.
“Clearing,” I said slowly and gently when he cursed.
“Clearing,” he repeated.
As we neared the end, he needed to stop and sound things out more often. I sat quietly and let him try, only intervening when he failed to get it right or got frustrated. But if he could keep this up, he would soon be ready for something else. I’d need to comb through the archives for proper books.
The thought was an icy splash. A reminder that this was only the first of what could be many secret meetings.
And that he wished to be rewarded at the end.
After he repeated the word friend for the third time, I worried about how long I’d been in his room and when he might kiss me. If he’d do so right here on his bed.
I hadn’t realized I’d tried to stand until his hand fell on my thigh, heavy and swallowing it above my knee. For some moments, I just looked at it. Marveled at the size. The inked scars and tiny hairs and the thick veins that moved when his fingers curled.
Then I looked up at him, suddenly terrified.
But he just said, “Read to me again.” He removed his hand and offered me the story. “So I can practice before you come back tomorrow.”
Fear softened my voice to a whisper. “I cannot see you tomorrow, Voran.”
“You can.”
My head shook. “I really cannot.”
“Why?” An almost growled question. The story scrunched in his clenched hand.
When he again looked at my mouth, I hesitantly rescued the parchment from him. I stared down at it. “People might wonder where I am. I think it’s best we meet no more than twice a week.”
“Every other day.”
My eyes darted to his. “That’s too dangerous.”
“So be careful.”
Aghast, I glared at him.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to be intimidating?”
“I’m trying to convey my immense distaste for your cruelty.” The words escaped before I could hope to stop them.
He leaned close. Too close. My breathing ceased as his nose nearly brushed mine. “You have yet to see me be cruel.”
With clarity that jolted, I recalled his claws at my throat. “We both know I have.”
“Broshklin,” he warned. “You have not.” Sinister, that slight curve of his mouth. As was the cloudy darkness within his eyes.
My stomach churned. “Are you trying to be intimidating?” I whispered. “Because it’s working. So please stop now.”
He blinked, then scowled when I eased away.
Heart thudding hard against my sternum, I gazed down at the story before deciding, “I want you to read each page after me.”
Then I began anew.
When it was his turn, I moved the booklet between us and did my best to ignore the overwhelming heat he exuded. It proved difficult with his arm touching mine. With his knee no longer at risk of knocking my own, but leaning against it.
I wasn’t sure when that had happened.
My skin felt warm, nearly clammy from the contact. It was distracting. But his deep voice, the thick stumbles, and the almost growls that came with his mistakes soon made me forget all about how unnecessarily close he was.
Until he finished the last page after me.
Gulls screeching past his window broke the trailing silence.
Voran tugged the story from my fingers. Parchment crackled as he set it beside him on his bed. “Time for my reward.”
The urge to jump to my feet and throw myself at his door became all-consuming. But it was battled by the memory of his lips on mine in that cupboard. The gentle touches and curious grazes. Anticipation tangled with fear, creating a shame that soured my stomach.
Tears stung my eyes.
As he turned to properly face me, I closed them.
He still noticed. “Your eyes are wet.” An accusation, sharpened with displeasure.
I shook my head.
“Last time we kissed, you didn’t cry.”
I was about to say that I hadn’t been forced to kiss him in that cupboard. Except, in a way, I had been forced to. A different way. “That wasn’t the same as this.”
“It was.”
“It wasn’t,” I rasped.
Silence.
“Look at me.” When I begrudgingly did, he glowered. Each word became more abrasive. “I don’t want you to cry when I kiss you.”
“Then don’t kiss me.”
More silence as he continued to glower at me. As he did, he searched my watery eyes. Then reached out.
I flinched.
A soft snarl, and his fingers dug into my neck as he snatched my face.
I gasped and tensed. His hold was firm. Also mercifully brief. The roughened pad of his thumb swept beneath my eye, then he released me.
He gazed down at his hand before bringing it to his mouth. He sucked his thumb. An escaped tear he’d taken from my cheek, I realized, and stared in fascinated horror. He kept his thumb in his mouth as he swallowed, and I could have sworn brighter blue flashed in his eyes.
Lowering his hand, he asked, “Just one kiss?”
The question was so earnestly eager that it was almost endearing.
Almost.
My stiff shoulders dropped. One kiss. It was as easy as this would get, really. One kiss or spend the rest of my days marked and fearful, just as he’d warned.
“Fine.” I sniffed. “Just one.”
I’d barely finished speaking before his hands had taken my face, and his lips were crushing mine.
A trapped breath rushed from my nose, accompanied by a startled noise.
Voran groaned and softened his hold. Only his mouth. Gently, he pushed his lips into mine. As he did, his fingers again dug into my neck and his thumbs into my cheeks. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to match the desperation in the hungry clasp of his lips.
Just enough to remind me that I was wholly at his mercy.
Air bubbled in my chest.
Breathe, I inwardly scolded. You’ve done this before and survived. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t…
Instinct took over.
I reached up to grab his wrists and tugged. Of course, I couldn’t move them, much less his hands from my face. But his fingers immediately loosened as he muttered something in the old language. A curse, maybe. Whatever it was, his ragged tone made it impossible to deny.
He hadn’t meant to hurt me.
My shock at that distracted, and he dipped his tongue into my mouth. Another noisy breath fled me.
Then his callused thumb stroked my cheek as he withdrew to drag his mouth over my upper lip. It was a barely-there kiss. Yet I felt it all through me. My body became liquid. Rapidly warming liquid.
Realizing I liked it, Voran did it again. His mouth swept from one corner of mine to the other. It was then I discovered that I was still gripping his wrists—because I pulled at them. Urged him closer as I tilted my head.
And almost kissed him back.
With a start, I lurched away.
He let me. His hands released my face, and I felt it redden as he gazed at my mouth with heavy-lidded eyes. He looked sleepy and starving.
I fought a shiver. “That was…”
“Not enough,” he said, a deeper husk to his voice.
“Long,” I finished.
“Never agreed to keep it brief.”
I supposed he hadn’t. Ducking my head to hide my twitching lips, I pushed to my feet. The loss of his strange heat gave me an instant chill.
“We could meet in that neglected wing by the windows,” he said when I reached the door. “For some of our lessons.”
I turned to arch a brow at him. “Is this an attempt at compromise?”
He flopped back onto his bed. “I don’t like compromise.” Holding the story I’d made for him above his head, he said, “But I do like those windows.”
The windows he spoke of were just as grimy and salt-weathered as the rest in this fortress. If anything, those in the east wing were even worse, likely never once cleaned due to how high they were.
So I couldn’t keep from asking, “Why?”
“Kiss me again, and I’ll tell you.”
I didn’t need to know that badly. I checked the hall, then left him without another word.