Chapter 18 Dangerous Dealings #2
“I can. I just followed her.” I lean against the doorframe.
The way he’s looking at me has me shifting my feet.
It’s not shock or confusion in those eyes, but delight.
My chest floods with ridiculous warmth. “She was telling someone, a guard maybe, that she can’t find any evidence that we’re fated because of all the spying crystals being found.
Said she couldn’t sense … no … she couldn’t scent it either.
Whatever that meant. She talked about an envoy from Nevaeh. ”
The amusement slides off his face like sap. “Did you see who she was speaking to?”
“Unfortunately, no. From their voice it was a male.”
“Then it could’ve been anyone. A guard. One of my friends.
” Draven walks toward the two-story arched window.
I catch a bit of his face, and for a moment he looks like his father, if only in the cold way he surveys things, leaning with his arm against the glass and staring out at the slumbering volcano as if he will personally rouse it.
“If Nevaeh is considering sending an envoy, it’s to rectify what the two kings could not. ”
“What does that mean?” My heart races. I think I might be sick.
“It could mean they’re reconsidering my marriage arrangement.
Which means I would have no basis in which to protect you.
” Draven folds his arms across his chest, turning to watch me now with eyes that are as midnight blue as the skies outside.
“It’s not like they’d allow you to be my consort with the prophecy we all saw.
Only a future queen gets that kind of protection and power.
Hollow Fest and finals are at the end of the week, and then we’re supposed to go to Alfheim.
Now I’m not so sure I want to leave with them meeting to decide our fate. ”
“Can we force his hand?”
“My father’s?” Draven shakes his head. “Unlikely … though maybe … no, never mind.”
“What?” I prompt, desperate.
“We could try to progress things more quickly. Up our timeline in terms of our ‘romance.’” Draven still doesn’t look entirely convinced it would work. “The problem with druids and other immortals is our senses are heightened. We can learn to scent when something is real or not.”
“What’re you … oh.” My face heats as I realize that the immortals can’t smell him on me. Or me on him. “How … do you propose we resolve that?”
“Maybe we start sharing a bed.” He chuckles when my eyes narrow.
“If only in whatever boring way we must. It’ll help.
With the scenting I mean. Eight hours a night wrapped up in each other, even platonically, could fool my father.
” His tongue wets his lower lip and my body bursts into flame.
Palming the back of his neck he adds, “I’m not a bed hog, if that’s what you’re worried about. ”
No, I’m far more nervous about the intimacy of sleeping alongside him. Sex can be a distant thing, carnal, primal. But sharing a bed? Cuddling? It’s stupid to be more worried about my feelings than my sovereignty, but here we fucking are.
“Well, I’m a kicker,” I say, and he laughs. “Sharing a bed,” I muse for a spell, heart fluttering in my chest like a hummingbird’s wings. It’s a simple solution, if not a troublesome one. “Fine, starting tonight. As long as you behave.”
“I won’t break until you do.” Draven’s promise is hissed, like a blade leaving a sheathe.
“Fine.” I swallow, but the alternative likely will mean my head. “Mine or yours?”
“Yours. Whoever Magda was with must be close to me, so it’d be best if I was covered in the scent of you.”
Why is eye contact so fucking hard right now? I just nod. “See you in a bit, then.”
Exiting through the bathroom, I can’t help but notice my preparation for sleep is far more layered than usual.
Though I curse myself for caring, I still wind up shaving my legs, adding on several lotions I’d usually skip, and waffling between a summer set of silk pajamas and a winter one.
In the end, I opt for the narrow straps paired with lace and bottoms with a shorter inseam than I’d ever usually allow anyone to see me in.
We can’t smell like each other with fabric between us.
I cozy into my massive bed, bringing a book he lent me for research, but my gaze skips across the page like a stone across a lake, barely hitting every word or three.
My heart races, the minutes stretching until finally Draven enters.
His cotton shirt and loose pants are plain next to his usual clothes, but the top is formfitting enough to outline every curve of muscle.
I wonder if this is what a doe feels, when she spots a lone wolf across a clearing in a forest. Is the heady rush of nerves what makes them go still, the way I do now?
He stalks across to me, watching me as guardedly as if the roles were reversed, as if he were the stag and I the alpha of the pack.
He slides onto the other side, lifting the comforter and sheet, and that pressure grows unbearable. The enormous mattress doesn’t seem wide enough for both of us—
“Did you put on perfume just for me?” His violet eyes greet mine, holding tight, and the edge of a smile lingers at the corners of his lips. There’s an invitation laced in the sarcasm. Come play with me.
“It’s lotion.” I look him over, eyes narrowing. “Are you flexing right now?”
“It’s cold in here, without the fire.”
“I’ve heard that excuse before.”
He rolls his eyes, smirking like a fox. His attention snags on my necklace, usually hidden under my clothes throughout the day. “I’ve been meaning to return something to you.”
He draws up the World, then Death, and all at once my folded clothes from the Selection reappear between us, the figurine of the little broken king on top of them. “I’ll admit it wasn’t the kind of toy I was hoping to find hidden in your belongings—”
“Give it.” I hold my hand out and he offers it over, treating it as if it’s made of finest glass, shockingly gentle, eyeing me uncertainly. I covet it a moment, holding it tenderly before placing it on my bedside table. He hasn’t looked away and I say quietly, “It belonged to my brother.”
“I see.”
“How’d you get it back?” It’s an easier question to ask than why.
“It required paying off a guard, and making a rather large offering to appease Azazel but … since they decided to delay the changeling burnings for Hollow Fest I figured it was worth checking twice.”
My guard drops as I try to figure out a way to thank him without getting emotional, but I come up short.
His jaw clenches in the silence, but then he fills it again, leading us back as if commanding our verbal dance, light and airy and ignoring the generous kindness he just showed as if it were nothing. “Gods, I hope you don’t snore. I think I’d rather you just knife me in my sleep.”
“That’s not off the table.” I scoff in his direction, relief coursing out of me as his humor relaxes my body, as if I’ve slunk into a warm bath.
His wings are tucked tight around him, and for a moment a feather caresses my arm, my breasts peaking at the soft touch.
I find myself not moving, hoping it trails my skin again.
“I’m more worried about whatever birdlike diseases you carry. ”
“Says the thief of sandwiches. Perhaps I should nail down my wallet and tarot cards, too.”
“Priss.”
“Trash goblin.”
I roll my eyes, smiling, and my attention lands on those horns, nearly scraping the headboard as he slides off his shirt, the pants, too, though he keeps the sheet tucked around his waist. What have I gotten myself into?
My gaze flicks dismissively over him as I desperately cling to the pretense that there’s nothing impressive in the cut of those muscles, the bold ink on his skin, or the addictive scent of him.
Those twin serpents that peeked over his collar are wrapped in dark and light around an image of our world on his sternum, but there’s so many tattoos, some bleeding into the next, that I don’t know if there’s enough time to really drink them all in.
The only coherent thought I have is to elevate the tension.
Snark suddenly the essence of my being, I say flatly, “Oh no … your clothes disappeared.”
He laughs so hard the bed shakes, the sound riling, and some traitorous part of me wants to make him crack up like that for as long as I can. But his eyes darken with need, and if he’s acting, then damn him because the growing pressure between my legs isn’t.
He says silkily, “I need your scent on my skin. That wasn’t happening fully dressed. You’re welcome to take off more, too, if you desire.” He settles back as I roll my eyes.
Out of curiosity I lift the sheets, peeking beneath, and his eyebrows jump. “Looking for something, love?”
“Just making sure I won’t be kicked by some manicured hooves tonight.”
He’s wearing some short-like underwear, tight enough to draw everything into formfitting, bulging outlines. His legs are muscled, traced with tattoos like the rest of him. I force my gaze to flick away too fast to take in any more details.
“Well, I was right that they’re manicured.”
“Better than whatever troll toes you call those things.” He laughs as I shove him with my hand, dropping the sheet, and he grins like a wildcat. “You sure you weren’t checking to see if some other part of me was like an animal?”
“How close would I have to get to tell?” I fire back, and his mouth drops a bit, but he scoffs out a laugh.
He’s not threatened by a good jab, and from the violet in those eyes I think he welcomes it.
But to be fair, from what I glimpsed, there’s nothing for him to be self-conscious about.
I run a hand along those exquisite wings, mostly to push the one off my half of the bed, and he shudders, eyes closing.
Draven quickly rolls onto his stomach, his shoulder bumping against mine as his arms curl around a pillow, wings bunched on his back to avoid further touching.
There’s a flush to his cheeks from that gentle stroke.