Chapter 22 A Night with a Rogue
A Night with a Rogue
Am I spoken for?
It was a simple question—and a fair one, I supposed—but it still tangled my insides in all sorts of knots.
Yes, I’d kissed Octavian, and yes, it was absolutely the best kiss I’d ever experienced in my life, but was that enough to consider my heart “claimed”?
I hardly knew Octavian, and despite the kindness he’d shown me—and the way he’d risked his life for me over the last couple of days—any feelings I had for him were surface-level at this point.
No promises had been made between us—and for good reason, as he’d always planned to return here and never see me again.
Couple that with how ga-ga I'd gone over Alastor’s intoxicating smell, or how strongly I'd reacted to Radven’s touch on my ankle, of all places, and it was clear that emotionally, at least, I wasn’t spoken for at all. When had I become so fast and loose with my desire?
Radven was looking down at me expectantly, and again I got the feeling that I was a mouse cornered by a cat, that he knew everything already and he was simply toying with me for his own amusement.
I’d no doubt it was blatantly obvious that I was attracted to him, but this bastard wanted me to admit it out loud.
And he’d know if I lied.
“I’m not spoken for,” I said finally. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything with you here tonight.”
“I never asked,” he replied, one side of his mouth curling higher than the other.
“But you were thinking it,” I said, rising to face him. “Admit it.” He still towered over me, but at least it felt like we were on an even playing field now.
“I’d never deny it,” he said. “I have no reason to hide my desire, butterfly. I find you intriguing.”
“Really? Because back at your mansion you seemed to find me annoying. Or frustrating, at least.”
“Can’t it be both?” His humor was back in full force. “Is it important to you that I find you delightful?”
My cheeks blazed. “That’s not what I meant. I was just pointing out the…the hypocrisy.”
“The truth can change,” he countered. “Or multiple things can be true at the same time. Truth is funny that way.” He was clearly enjoying this exchange to the fullest. “And desire is based on many things. It might be based on physical attraction, or shared passion, or mystery. Perhaps I am simply drawn to a young woman who claims to be inexperienced in the ways of the world but who clearly has as many secrets as I do.”
“I told you before, I don’t really have any secrets.
Besides the one I already told you.” I still couldn’t believe I’d confessed to this man that I was a virgin, and clearly that decision was already backfiring on me.
“If you think I’m hiding a bunch of other juicy secrets, you’re going to be disappointed. ”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll disappoint me.” He had that look in his eyes again—the one that made me feel like he was going to devour me whole.
Something about that look lit a fire in me.
I should have been intimidated, perhaps.
Or even scared. Instead, the wild, reckless part of me that had been desperately trying to break free these last couple of days was rearing her head again, urging me to lean forward, to grab him and beg him to show me all the things his eyes promised.
But the wiser part of me—or perhaps the exhausted part of me—won, and I turned away from him.
“I’m tired,” I announced. “I’m going to bed. And if you lay a hand on me in the night, I swear I’ll cut off your balls.”
He chuckled. “I’ll only touch you if you ask.”
I didn’t even dignify that with a response. I moved my half-finished plate of lamb to the small table against the wall, and then I pulled aside the worn, patched blanket on the bed and climbed in.
The mattress was lumpy. And it smelled faintly musty, and a little like a barn, and I really didn’t want to think too hard about what sort of cleaning practices a small village inn in this world might—or might not—use between guests.
Fortunately, someone had cared enough to stash a small cache of dried lavender inside the pillow, and as for the rest of it, I was too exhausted to give it the amount of thought it probably deserved.
I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders, rolling onto my side so that I faced away from Radven. After turning down the lamp slightly, he settled back down on his side of the bed, making the mattress sink and shift. I braced myself so I wouldn’t roll into his side.
He didn’t get under the covers, though, which was a small blessing. My body was on full alert, my nerves itching to be touched, and I was uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since the last time I’d given myself some action.
Esmer would definitely have encouraged me to give in to my lust, to roll over and tell Radven he could have his way with me, to let him teach me all the things that wicked smile told me he knew.
But I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to ignore the heat and presence of his body on the other side of the blanket.
It was a testament to how tired I was that I fell asleep quickly after that. And my sleep was deep and dreamless—at least at the start.
When I did start dreaming, my dreams were twisted and strange, and I woke with a jolt to find myself sitting up and gasping, and there was a lump in my stomach like I’d just been through something traumatic and heartbreaking, even though I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming about.
Whatever it was, though, opened the floodgates. Everything I’d been holding in came rushing to the surface, and the lump in my stomach was joined by another in my throat. My eyes burned and no amount of squeezing them shut could hold back the tears.
I’d forgotten Radven was beside me until the mattress shifted.
“You all right, butterfly?”
No, I wasn’t. Not even close. I was terrified, and confused, and lost, and I was tired of trying to keep it all together.
I launched myself at Radven. Not with any particular aim in mind but because I needed an anchor, something to hold onto as the sobs burst free of my chest. I buried my face in his shoulder, no longer trying to fight the tears, and my body shook as my breaths came out in shuddering gasps.
I’d cried in front of an ex once—my very first boyfriend, and he’d freaked out about it and told me I was “too emotional” for him, essentially breaking up with me on the spot.
But Radven didn’t freak out, and he didn’t accuse me of anything. Instead, he reached up and stroked my hair.
From a man like him, it was a surprisingly gentle and soothing gesture, and I was so shocked my next sob came out as a hiccup.
I lifted my head, fighting to catch my breath. “What are you—hiccup—doing?”
He managed to look both amused and mildly offended at the same time. “What does it look like I’m doing, butterfly? I’m bloody comforting you.”
And it was working. With every delicate touch of his fingers against my hair, that twisty, heartbreaking knot in my stomach gave way beneath a stronger, warmer feeling. And when I looked up and saw the heat echoed in his eyes, my body took over.
I kissed him.
Instantly, the knot in my stomach exploded into a thousand butterflies. His mouth opened against mine at once, like he’d been waiting for this all along, and a deep groan resonated in his throat. The hand that had been stroking my hair pressed against the back of my head as he deepened the kiss.
His lips were bewitchingly skilled, moving against mine in ways I never imagined two mouths could meet. In seconds I was gasping again, only this time not from the sobs.
He broke away suddenly, looking down at me with desire all over his face. “I guess this means you’ve changed your mind about me touching you?”
“Yes,” I said breathlessly, desperately, as I pulled his face back toward mine. “Yes, yes, I’ve changed my mind.”
Our mouths crashed together again, and the butterflies danced through me, chasing the heat down to my toes and up to the top of my head.
Radven’s other arm came around my waist, pulling my upper body against his.
My lower half was still tangled up beneath the blanket, but he released me just long enough to jerk it out of the way before drawing me fully into his lap.
All without pulling his lips away from mine for more than a split second.
He was going to devour me. His mouth wasn’t just eager—it was ravenous, and every flick of his tongue felt like an attempt to taste the deepest parts of me. Occasionally his kisses turned into nips or even full bites, but I found I enjoyed the pain.
And I was just as hungry for him, my hands moving across his back, then his chest, exploring the athletic planes of his body with an enthusiasm that surprised even me. A shiver moved through me as I touched him, tingly and thrilling, all pleasure and no pain.
I was tired of being the good girl. After everything I’d been through, after all the physical agony and too many close calls with death, I wanted nothing more in this moment than pure, sinful pleasure.
And Radven was clearly more than willing to give it to me.
Tentatively, I bit down on his bottom lip, and he growled with such animal lust that it sent a little shockwave through me, all the way down to my core.
He gripped me and twisted me, repositioning my body so that I was straddling his lap, and this new position brought with it so many new and delicious points of contact that I gave an involuntary sigh of pleasure as I sank fully against him.
“We’re just getting started, butterfly,” he murmured against my mouth in velvet tones, his hands skimming up my ribs to caress the sides of my breasts.
I sighed again as a new batch of nerve endings sprang to life, my body awakening to the pleasure I’d long denied myself.
But he was just teasing me again, because his hands moved from my breasts to my back once more, his fingers coming up to tangle in my hair and hold me by the nape.
Then his mouth moved away from mine, and he tilted my head back to give himself full access to my throat.
His lips blazed a trail down my skin, his teeth continuing to nip as they explored.
“This is where I really start to learn your secrets,” he murmured between kisses.
“Like how you taste.” He kissed me at the hollow of my throat.
“Or what sounds you make when you’re aroused.
” His tongue slipped along my collarbone, drawing a little involuntary moan from me.
“Or where all your most sensitive nerve endings are.” He leaned me back and made his wicked way down the slopes of my breasts, which were more than prominent above the low neckline of my stolen dress.
His teeth closed around a bit of skin on the upper curve of my left breast, and stars flashed before my eyes.
Some secrets are shared in other ways. His words came back to me, delicious and seductive and with more truth than I’d realized until this very moment.
I wanted to give him those secrets. Not because I was stupid, or reckless—though I probably couldn’t have defended myself against either of those accusations—but because my life had turned upside down, and while I’d never been so terrified, I’d also never felt so alive.
This man was dangerous, and I wanted to do something dangerous, too.
I wanted to stop living through the characters in my stories and start living the story of my own life—even if that included mistakes.
Exquisite, wicked mistakes.
And I wanted to learn his secrets, too. Without even thinking about it, I found myself tugging on his shirt, trying to pull it over his head.
He helped, pulling his mouth away from me just long enough to shrug it up and over, then tossing it aside. He had a strap across his chest boasting an entire collection of small, sheathed knifes, and when I reached for the buckle he grabbed my hand.
“That stays on.”
I had no objections to that.
He, however, had plenty of objections to my dress. He tugged at the laces of the over-layer, freeing my breasts from their bindings, and pulled the whole thing down off my shoulders, pushing my dress down to my waist.
I should have been nervous. It was clear where this was heading. But somehow, looking up into Radven’s ravenous gaze, I felt only reckless, wonderful power.
He pushed me down onto my back, shifting us so that he loomed over me, then grabbed the bundle of dress around my hips.
“How many people know the secrets of your body beyond this point?” he asked.
He already knew the answer. We both knew he did. But he wanted to hear me say it, and I could feel how confessing it out loud would make it more sinful, somehow.
“Just me,” I said, my voice a breathy whisper.
He dipped his head, letting his lips, then his tongue, then his teeth taste the skin just below my belly button. Then he pulled the dress down my hips.
A strange pulse shivered through the room. At first I thought it was me—some weird effect of essence and lust combined into a new sensation—but then Radven jerked his head up, his eyes suddenly going wide.
And then he leaped up, yanking a knife from the strap across his chest and slashing it through the air.
Something landed on the mattress beside me. I turned my head and found myself looking at the body of a small, winged creature. It was sliced nearly in two, and its iridescent blue blood was soaking into the bed as it twitched and writhed.
I scrambled up into a sitting position. “What is that?” Its rounded body was shimmery like its blood, all shades of blue and green. It looked almost like a beetle—if beetles grew as long as my hand, and had a double-pair of transparent wings like a dragonfly.
“Zhesper drone.” Radven stabbed his blade into the creature’s head, and it gave one final death-twitch and fell still. “Laitha uses them as messengers and spies.”
My body was suddenly cold, and the knot had returned to my stomach. If Laitha was sending spies after us, then…
I didn’t have to voice that thought aloud. Radven was already slipping his shirt over his head.
“Get dressed,” he told me. “We have to go. Now.”