Chapter Fifteen

Hawthorne

The rest of the afternoon blurs together. There is no way to mark the passage of time in the underworld, even if it has suns, moons and stars just like my realm does. Berkley skitters about with purpose, and to my relief, there are other servants who work the kitchens. Most of all, what I have noticed is the constant presence of Aamon.

I am a mortal in a realm where mortals shouldn't exist, and Aamon was less than the terrifying authority figure I imagined. As time has passed this afternoon, I feel something stir between us.

It began with little moments.

I caught Aamon watching me from across the room, his golden eyes softened, as if lost in thought. As my gaze met his, he glanced away and continued his work on a machine that clicked. Subtle moments when our fingers grazed one another or his wings tickling against my side—each touch and glance was brief, but it left behind a warmth that lingered long after the moment passed.

We have yet to speak about how I have found my way into his bed chambers tonight. Will we exchange mana tonight? For how much longer does the first time last? I find myself eager for the taste of him, and after a long day of working my magic, my body aches.

There is a fire crackling in the hearth, and the room is bathed in warmth. Aamon is sitting gracefully at the round table with a book in his hands.

"You've been working very diligently," he says in a low rumble.

I glance up at him from the matching position as I thumb through the tome that dictates our pact. His presence fills the room, and it always has, though tonight he seems relaxed. His wings are folded loosely, and the usual hard edges of his face are softened.

"I wish to learn as much as I can." I close the book, setting it aside to pay him full attention.

Aamon's lips quirk upwards into a half-smile. For a moment, I forget he is inhuman with bird-like qualities and instead see him as the attractive creature that he is. "You are doing better than I anticipated. You were pretty dreadful."

I snort, a smile tipping up my lips as I cock my head to the side. "I had a rather strict teacher."

There is a long pause, and the air between us thickens with unspoken words. I feel the tension building, the weight of everything we wish to say pressing in on me. It's as if the entire world has fallen away, leaving us both bathed in golden light in this dimly lit room.

Aamon's eyes lock onto mine, and I feel the shift in him. I dare not move or speak, as I fear that, if I do, the moment will pass us by. Slowly, he stands from his chair, crossing the room until he's just in front of me. He reaches out, his hand hovering along my cheek in a whispering touch. His fingers are so long and elegant, though at one point I did feel as though they were only meant to be deadly.

His touch gently ghosts over my skin as he hesitates, like he expects me to recoil. Instead, I press my cheek against his hand with a smile. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. The warmth of his skin sends a spark of electricity through my body. I swallow roughly, and my heart pounds in my chest.

I gaze upward into his eyes; there is a question lingering there. One he chooses not to voice, but I know what he's asking. I feel it in the way his fingers trace my lips, down my chin and to my neck.

"Aamon…" I whisper, barely audible.

As he steps closer, he leans his face inches from mine. Heat radiates off him, with the intoxicating smell of fire and earth on his skin. His golden eyes search mine. I hope that he will kiss me, but he stops.

"This between us," he murmurs, his voice laced with vulnerability, "it's so dangerous, Thorne."

I want to tell him I couldn't care less about the danger. I want to beg him to kiss me, to touch me, but instead I blink as the weight of disappointment settles over me. "Why?"

"I can't afford to feel this way," he says a softer string of words I barely make out, but when I do, my heart drops, "with you."

The conflict in his eyes doesn't stop the sting I feel, but there is a battle he seems to be fighting with himself. At the moment, I have no care for that danger. I care about the way his hand feels against my skin, the way he looks at me as if the world belongs just to us. There is a softness in his eyes, and my heart beats loudly when I'm with him. What may be happening between us feels real, and I know I want him.

"Maybe, but could it not be worth the risk?" my voice trembles as his touch leaves my skin.

The loss of his touch feels like a physical ache, but I can see in his eyes that he wants me just as much as I do him. There is a fire burning there behind the golden embers, and all at once, I rise to my feet. Within two steps, I'm grabbing him, pulling him toward me.

"Then let's have tonight? Let's see where things lead."

Aamon doesn't respond, though his hands grip me with fervor. There is an unspoken word hanging between us once again in a growing affection that neither of us can deny.

"On the bed," he commands. "Now."