Chapter 38
Elariya
“The Softest War”
Istirred from a deep slumber and tried to move, but my head throbbed like a battlefield after the carnage.
A dull, aching hum thrummed behind my eyes, and my body felt like it didn't belong to me.
I tried to open my eyes but couldn't. My lids were sealed shut as if they'd been glued together.
I took a breath and shuffled, wincing as every muscle in my body ached like I'd been trampled by a herd of wild horses.
Then I made the mistake of swallowing and nearly gagged.
My mouth tasted like I'd been chewing on an old leather boot. Gods, what had I eaten or drunk?
And where was I? The sheets beneath me felt different. Thicker. Richer. Wrong.
I'd gotten used to the cool linen of the bed in my borrowed room and the scent of fresh jasmine and freesia from the flowers Sirril brought in every evening. I smelled none of that now.
The scent tickling my nose was cedar and storms, and something distinctly male wrapped around me like a cocoon. It was the scent of him—Wolfe.
Was he nearby?
I hoped not. I couldn't deal with another run-in with him. Our argument in the garden was awful and hurt me more than I'd shown. Then the bastard avoided me for the last two days as if we had the luxury of time. Though I supposed he had time on his side. I did not.
Something pressed against my back, pulling my mind more into focus. Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. Then, as awareness crept in, I realized the thing I felt was a solid chest. And an arm draped possessively across my waist.
What in the hells?
I shuffled again.
That was definitely an arm. And the chest pressing into my back was undeniably real.
I pried my eyes open and found myself staring at an ornate ceiling I didn't recognize. Dark wooden beams stretched across the high ceiling, and a stained-glass window cast colored light across gray unfamiliar walls. This definitely wasn't my room.
I reached behind me, and my fingers came in contact with a chest. My breath stilled. Someone really was behind me. Who?
My fingers drifted lower to something long, hard, and thick. I squeezed.
“Woman, what the fuck?” groaned a deep, rough voice in my ear. “Unless you have other things in mind for my cock, you might not want to touch me there.”
Wolfe!
And I was touching his cock?
My stomach dropped through the floor, and horror crashed over me in hot and cold waves. Every muscle in my body locked into place as I went rigid, then my heart slammed against my ribs.
Blood drained from my face as I whirled around and faced a sleepy-looking Wolfe with his hair hanging idly over his shoulders and his bare tattooed chest gleaming in the morning light.
My heart stopped beating entirely as I stared at him, my mind trying to process this new level of hell. Then I looked down and realized I was wearing his shirt. Only his shirt. I didn't even have underwear on underneath. And his shirt barely covered my thighs.
Shit, shit, shit.
Pain forgotten, I grabbed the sheet and covered myself before backing off the bed, shame burning through my veins like liquid metal. I nearly tripped over my feet.
Blessed Mother, what had I done?
How in the six hells had I ended up in Wolfe Nightblade's bed, sleeping in his arms, wearing nothing but his shirt, and touching his cock?
His cock.
“What in the hells happened?” I gasped, pulling the sheet closer to my chest. “How did I get in your room?”
Gods, did we... have sex?
Was I no longer a virgin?
I didn't remember. What a cruel joke. That was something I wanted to remember. Even to document.
Wolfe sat up and stared at me with questioning eyes, tucking his hair behind his pointed ears. “You seriously don't remember anything, Ziyka?”
My cheeks burned so hot I thought my skin was going to go up in flames. “No. Did we...” I couldn't bring myself to say any of the words—have sex or sleep together—and risk more humiliation.
“No. We didn't. You'd remember if we had. Even if your curse had kicked in, you'd still remember.” The slyness in his expression and cockiness in his smooth grin sent a jolt of desire straight to my core, where I still foolishly craved him.
“I told you, that's not how it works. I remember nothing new when the curse kicks in.”
“This would be different.” His gaze flicked up and down my body.
“Why would it be?”
“Because it's me.”
For a second, he almost felt like the Wolfe I knew. Not the horrid version from the other day who made it crystal clear that there was nothing between us.
I held his gaze, trying not to read too much into his words, but damn me, I couldn't control the flutter in my heart.
Wolfe got off the bed and smiled, showing off long fangs. They were longer than that day on the ship when I first watched him flying. He almost looked scary.
With a snap of his fingers, a cigar appeared in his hand, alight with blue flames that faded to soft embers. I'd never seen him smoke before, and like everything else about him, he made it look good.
I waited for him to give me more information to make this craziness make sense, but he remained silent, watching me as he leaned against the wall.
“Please put me out of my misery and tell me what happened.” I winced.
“What's the last thing you remember?” His smile widened, making his teeth look more haunting.
My throbbing head made it hard to concentrate, but I searched my mind and recalled Garrick offering me a drink after Sirril served us pumpkin pie. We were in the garden, and I'd been telling him about Emabelle. I mentioned how much we'd loved pumpkin ale.
“I was drinking ale with Garrick and talking about my cousin.”
“What else did you do with Garrick?” Wolfe’s stare turned colder and flickers of his shadows curled about his arms.
“We just talked and drank.” And I was guessing I drank far too much. What I was experiencing was a dreadful hangover.
“Is that all you two did?” He looked me up and down with the scrutiny of a wild cat.
“Yes. That's all. What do you think we were doing?”
Wolfe took a drag of his cigar and blew out a ring of smoke. “Not sure. That’s why I’m asking.” His voice dipped low as his gaze roamed over my breasts.
I was covered as best as possible, but he was looking at me as if I stood here naked.
I needed to find my dress, or something better than his sheet and shirt to preserve my dignity. I searched around the room but came up with nothing, just his things, which called to me to get a better look.
This was his room, one of the places that were off limits to me. Every time I went by the hallway that led up here, I wondered what I'd find inside. Now I was in here with him, looking for my clothes, so I could head out as quickly as possible.
“Have you seen my dress?” I looked back at him, feeling irritated that he was still watching me with that cool edge.
“No.”
He was acting strange, and I didn't like it. Something else must have happened. “You haven't seen my clothes at all?”
“Your guess to its whereabouts is as good as mine, Ziyka.”
I looked away from him, and my gaze settled on a bottle of wine on his desk. It was nearly finished, but something about it held my attention.
In a daze, I walked over to it, and the moment I touched it, a rush of memory flooded back to my mind.
Yes, I remembered drinking with Garrick, but what happened after...
Blessed Mother.
I'd lost my mind. I wasn't just talking to Garrick about Emabelle as I drank. I'd drowned my sorrows in several mugs of ale. Then I began casting spells Arielle had taught me on things in the house. They were supposed to be basic spells to help my magic, but I turned them into something else.
The pots and pans in the kitchen grew legs and ran away. I'd turned the chandeliers into swallows, and they flew around the room, then I conjured an army of frogs that came leaping through the door. I was out of control.
Garrick brought me up here, and that's when I really lost it. Somehow, I thought performing the few spells had transformed me into an all-powerful mage, and I set out to portal home.
I threw a bunch of words together in an attempt to create a spell, and out of my hands came smoke that turned the clothes on my body to ashes. Then the room was covered in blackness, and I was terrified a wraith was going to come after me.
That's when my drunken mind thought it would be a good idea to grab Wolfe's shirt and wrap myself in it. The safety of his scent would somehow protect me. When the smoke cleared, I found this bottle of wine in the cupboard. I thought it was the same as what I'd had downstairs, so I drank it.
The thing tasted like swamp water and dirt, but it gave me a mellow buzz that chilled me out.
At least it made me forget for a little while. Now every word I'd said to Wolfe suddenly replayed in my head, and fragments of last night swarmed around me, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
“You remember, don't you?” Wolfe's voice invaded my mind with certainty and quiet conviction.
I looked up at him and recalled him holding me, whispering gentle words, his hands tender instead of cruel.
The things I'd said. Gods, I told him everything. As if I hadn't humiliated myself enough.
“I have to go.” Forget finding my dress; I no longer cared what I was wearing or how I looked coming out of his room wearing his shirt and sheet. I had to leave. Now.
I padded across the floor and rushed to the door. I opened it, but it snapped back shut. I opened it again, and the same thing happened, but this time, it locked from the outside. I realized straightaway that magic was at work. Wolfe's magic.
With my jaw clenched, I turned around, giving him a bewildered stare. “What are you doing?”
“You're not leaving the room dressed like that.”
Irritation clawed up my throat. “I'm fully covered.”