Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

T alan stalks out of the shower wearing only a pair of small, black underwear that doesn't leave much to the imagination. I find myself staring at the vinelike tattoos that trace over his muscles, coiling around his large bicep. For the briefest moment, I imagine running my tongue over those tattoos—and then I quickly force the image from my mind.

For the first time since I met him, he seems softer, his usual mocking expression replaced with something else that I can't quite pinpoint.

I remember to close my mouth as he crosses to the bed. The air between us feels charged. I absolutely cannot let myself fall under his seductive spell. Maybe he trusts me—maybe that was a lie. But I can't assume he's on my side until I know the truth and I have actual intel to confirm it. If I get this wrong, it's all over.

When he slides into the bed next to me, I shift away from him, like I might be burned by his touch. As I do, I wince involuntarily at the throbbing pain in my side.

Talan, of course, notices.

His dark gaze sweeps down, and he frowns at my waist, exactly where I was stabbed. "What happened?"

"You said I could keep my secrets."

His gaze flicks up, piercing me. The copper rings in his eyes grow bright as flames. "I've changed my mind, because if someone attacked you, that's a secret you cannot keep. Did this knave stab you with a knife or a sword? What did he look like?"

I swallow hard. This is getting harder and harder to conceal. "An assassin, maybe. I didn't want you to make a big thing of it and go on a murder rampage."

"An assassin?" His voice is ice-cold, his eyes dark with anger.

"You know that since I first got here, people have wanted me out of the way. They see me as a threat."

"Was he from Arwenna's family? Sent by my father? Some other noble's mercenary?"

"We didn't get that far in the conversation."

A muscle flexes in his jaw. "Let me see. I can heal it."

Fuck. He'll see the mangled job I did with the thread.

I inhale sharply. "It might look a bit gruesome."

"Let me see." His deep voice echoes with the authority of a king's command, and his eyes are narrowed.

"Fine. But it's not pretty." Swallowing hard, I hoist up the hem of my nightgown, exposing my pale pink underwear that barely covers what it needs to. As I do, Talan's eyes flick up to me, his jaw flexing. In the cool castle air, I feel exposed before him, but the Fey aren't self-conscious.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the hem further up until the garment is just under my ribs. As I do, a chill ripples over the room, and the torches gutter, almost sputtering out. Outside, lightning cracks the sky.

"And they sewed you with thread?" His voice chills my blood. "Is this why there were reports of blood in the courtyard?"

"I sewed it. I was trying to stop the bleeding."

When he looks up at me, I can see that he has never heard of this concept before.

"It's a farm thing," I say quickly. "We didn't have access to the court healers that you have. I know it's not healing as fast as it should, so it made me wonder if there was a toxin."

"I need to know what the assassin looked like."

"He was dressed as a soldier."

"Shall I have them all killed, then? Every soldier working last night? Their entrails drawn out of them until someone confesses?"

Oh, gods. I can't tell if he's joking. It could go either way with him. I clear my throat. "That's not necessary, Talan. There were two of them, and they ran off, but I injured them severely. I think they bled to death in the woods."

"I will find whoever is behind this. Arwenna, perhaps. There are rumors that she's been trying to kill you."

Talan stares at my wound again, and the temperature in the room cools even further. Thunder rumbles across the horizon outside, and hail slams against the window.

"Let me fix that abomination." Frowning, he turns, scanning the room. He rises from the bed and yanks open a drawer. Thank the gods for my caution: my inhaler, lock picks, and spare knives are hidden behind a loose brick in the bathroom, where they won't be found accidentally. He pulls out the little sewing kit I'd used to stitch myself, takes out a needle and a tiny pair of silver scissors, and settles next to me on the bed.

His attention narrows to the rough-looking stitching on my waist. Gently, carefully, he uses the needle to tease out the knotted thread. Then, using the small scissors, he snips the knot. The pain beneath it throbs a little as he works. As heat radiates off his skin onto mine, he pulls out the thread. I feel it tugging against my skin until he smoothly removes the final stitch. It looks slightly healed now, and there's a bad, jagged red scar, but it's no longer an open wound. Pain still blooms beneath the surface.

He glances up at me. "I can help you." He grabs my hips, shifting me down a little.

"Is this really necessary?" I whisper.

He nods, and I feel his warm breath against my skin. Already, shivers are running over my skin. His warm, strong palms root my hips in place. His lips brush against the cut, lightly at first. Testing. Then he extends his tongue, licking around the red scar. As he does, hot tingles spread from the place where his tongue meets my skin. My heart starts to race, and the heat of his mouth moves over me.

Holding me firmly in place, he kisses my skin. As his healing magic ripples through me, I hear faint glimpses of his thoughts—lust-soaked glimmers dripping with desire.

She scorches me with her stare…I will bind our bodies as a tempest of desire sweeps through us…I want to taste her. I want to hear her scream my name, our passion a comet streaking across the sky…

His tongue strokes my skin, and need sweeps through me. An aching warmth pulses in my core, and my thighs clench.

My nightgown is still hitched over my waist, and I'm acutely aware of how naked I am now. He grips the hem in his fist, holding it up, his knuckles white. My back arches, hips bucking a little.

I will brand her with a kiss…

My breath shallows, and my skin looks healed now, but his tongue brushes over the hollows of my hips. Pleasure rocks through me, and liquid heat courses down. I can hardly think straight. Under my nightgown, my breasts peak. As I breathe in and out, the delicate silk feels like an exquisite torture. I crave more of him.

I let out a moan?—

Gods, I can't let this happen. I'm supposed to be spying on him, not letting him seduce me.

My fingers thread into his hair. "I think it's done now," I manage in a whisper.

He lifts his head to gaze at me, his copper-ringed eyes smoldering like embers. "But I don't think you are done with me," he whispers. "Are you?" He glances up at me, searching my eyes, as if he's seeing right into my soul, discovering my secrets, taking me apart one piece at a time. Uncovering exactly how much my body aches for him.

I'm breathing hard, and my pulse is racing. "Our relationship is supposed to be fake. That was the deal."

His biceps flex as he moves his face closer to mine, and his earthy, musky scent envelops me. One of his hands is still gripping my nightgown, and his lips hover above mine. "But you want me, don't you? Are you lying to yourself when you say you don't?"

I lick my lips, and I can't bring myself to say no. I'm sure he can read my secrets, anyway. He doesn't know who I am, but he knows what I want. Warmth radiates off his powerful body, and I feel his magic licking at my skin, stroking me.

His stare ignites me, and sensual need sweeps through me. Without even realizing what I'm doing, I wrap my thighs around his waist.

My mind is screaming at me to stop this, but I don't seem to be able to find the words as his body presses over mine, steely and unyielding.

His full, sensual lips part. I can't look away from his perfect face, from the heat in his eyes. From that intoxicating darkness in them.

I try to think clearly, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat, rhythmically pounding.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says.

His beauty entrances me, and I can't seem to form the words. I should be telling him to stop. That I'm already healed. But all I do is lick my lips in invitation.

His head dips, and I feel his breath on my neck. His canines graze over the throbbing pulse in my throat, feather-light, and hot tingles race over my body. Arching my neck, I invite more. He kisses my throat, tongue flicking over my skin, and my core tightens. He's tasting me, teasing me.

As my hips shift against him, I grip his hair. Slow, languid strokes of his tongue slide over the throbbing pulse in my neck. His body is steely and warm against me, his skin surprisingly soft.

Flames consume the night…simmering in a crucible of lust…

The torches seem to burn brighter around us, heating the room. I let out another quiet, desperate moan.

When he looks up at me, his eyes smolder with a hungry intensity. My blood turns molten. His heartbreaking beauty holds me captive.

He gives me a faint, knowing smile. "So, no, then? You don't want me to stop, I take it?"

"Talan."

"Yes? Why don't you tell me what you want? I already know, Nia. But I want to hear you say it."

Releasing my nightgown, he slides his fingers into my hair and tugs my head back just a little. I'm vulnerable, pinned as he brings his canines to my throat once more. His tongue swirls, and all I can think about is how it would feel to have his mouth close over one of my nipples. My breasts ache for him, and my whole body pulses with need.

As he brushes his lips over mine, my muscles melt. I'm at his mercy.

With my hands in his hair, I pull him closer, arching into him. He claims my mouth, his lips moving against mine in a kiss of incandescent heat. As his tongue slides against mine, his fingers curl in my hair possessively, and the kiss deepens, growing more demanding, wild. He's tasting me, stroking me with his tongue, and my thighs tighten around him. Quietly, I moan into his mouth, and his kiss grows hungrier. He tugs gently at the back of my hair. He has me exactly where he wants me. With a nip to my lower lip, he pulls away, catching his breath.

He raises his eyelashes, staring into my eyes. "Tell me what you want, Nia."

His body is warm, the muscles firm and unyielding against my skin, and I want to savor every inch of it. I want to run my fingers, my tongue over his muscled shoulders, his chest, his abs…

And when I look into his eyes, I feel like I'm drowning. I can hardly think straight. I'm on fire, and I can barely remember what I'm doing.

But as I catch my breath, I force myself to focus on reality.

I can't do this. Letting him fuck me for real could destroy any shred of objectivity I have.

I'm here as a spy. I'm here to figure out who is good and who is evil. To separate fact from fiction. And nothing will cloud my judgment more than giving in to him. If I do, deep down under the layers of rationality, I'll scramble to hold on to the evidence that supports what I want.

Of course, I can't give him that reason.

"I don't want this. I know the reputation you have, and I don't want to be another notch on your bedpost. If I'm going to give my body to someone, it will be for love. Not because I'm pretending."

Something flickers in his eyes, and for a moment, I think it's hurt. But then he gives me a faint smile and pulls away. Folding his hands behind his head, he lies back. "For someone who seemingly hates to experiment, you are quite adept at supplying me with new experiences."

My heart is still racing out of control, and I know he can hear it. "Being turned down for sex?"

"That's the one." He brushes his thumb over my cheek. "We are alike, you know, you and I. Left on our own to raise ourselves. We learned to play a part. We are costumed players strutting across a stage. But some day, Nia, I will learn the full truth of who is underneath that mask."

I turn over and blow out the candles.

I'm still thinking of the feel of his mouth claiming mine, his tongue tasting me.

My thighs clench, my skin still heated. I already know I won't be able to sleep tonight.

I roll over, watching him as he sleeps. He's snoring ever so quietly, his muscled chest rising and falling.

My mind is branded with that kiss, and I can't stop thinking about the feel of his tongue on my waist, on my hips, sliding and tasting me. My self-control nearly simmered away.

Now, while he's sleeping, I need to get an idea of what he's thinking. When he's out cold, he won't be able to feel me searching around in his mind.

I roll over and carefully slide my arm around his waist. He stirs a little, then folds his arm over mine. He smells amazing.

Gently, I tug at my powers. The pain sears through my mind, but I ignore it, sending a probing touch into Talan's thoughts. I can't risk digging deep. Even in his sleep, he might sense me as he has done before. And this time, it will end with my neck on the chopping block. So, I don't dig down—I caress, my powers brushing against his psyche like my lips against his. This is a seduction, not an invasion.

And in his mind, I find him dreaming of me, my arms wrapped around his shoulders in an apple grove. He kisses me hard and hikes up my skirt to my waist?—

The dream is interrupted by another, one that is angry, dangerous. A suspicion. Even as he sleeps, it spins in his mind.

…a human-sympathizing spy in the High Council?

My heart skips a beat. What does he know? That someone passed on information about the attack, I suppose. A spy got the warning through to the allies. Does he have any inkling that it might be me?

Unable to restrain myself, I delve deeper after this thought, searching, probing?—

His eyes snap open. I yank my powers back and summon the protective veil to cloud my mind.

His muscles have gone tense, and his dark eyes slide to me.

"What was that?" he asks with an edge in his voice.

"What?" I ask, blinking as if I'd just awakened. I slide my arm off his.

"I felt something familiar," he murmurs. "It's gone."

"Oh," I say sleepily.

"Your heartbeat is still wild."

"You startled me from a dream," I mumble. "A nightmare, actually. We were getting married." I force myself to be calm, and my heart slows down.

He frowns at me in the moonlight, then rolls over.

Gradually, his breathing slows, and I hear him mumbling something as he sleeps. Where your fairytale comes to life…

My breath stills, and shock courses through me. The words aren't spoken in Fey. He's speaking English. And it's a phrase that I know very well. Where your fairytale comes to life is the slogan of the bookstore where I worked back in LA.

My mind reels. All this time I was hearing his thoughts, I never imagined he was hearing mine, too.

I lie awake until dawn.