Page 15 of The Rook

Tempest’s scent grew stronger still, and he paused by the only bed with a privacy wall next to it. He ran his fingers along the chest at the end of the bed and then across the plain blanket covering her mattress. The urge to roll on her bed pricked him. He squashed it and froze when a noise outside the window gave him pause.

He stepped onto her bed and looked through the glass window above. The hair along his arms rose, and his lip curled back from his teeth. King Destin in the flesh. The bastard’s attention was pinned to the female in the ring who moved like water and sin, her periwinkle hair whipping with her movements.

Tempest.

Pyre looked on, observing the macabre scene as the king waved Tempest over. At first, it was funny, the way Tempest clearly did not want to come close to Destin even though she was being commanded to, but then Pyre noticed the genuine fear flitting across her face. That was dangerous. Pyre knew the king could smell fear miles away. He fed on it. Enjoyed it.

The king pinned Tempest against a wooden pole and kissed her.

A snarl formed in the back of Pyre’s throat, and his clawspierced the skin of his fingers, lengthening. The obvious desire in King Destin’s face when Tempest bit his lip sent Pyre into a confusing rage. How dare that mongrel touch what washis.His entire body hovered on the edge of rage as the king’s gaze roved over Tempest like she was his property, his alone.

Mine.

His claws dug into the window frame. He could do nothing about the situation and had no right to interfere with whatever was going on.

Get a hold of yourself.

The practical part of him filed what he’d seen in the back of his mind; it could prove useful in the future. Though Tempest had been cagey about answering any questions about King Destin before, Pyre had always known that there was more to her feelings for the king than mere fear for a manipulative ruler. Now, he was beginning to grasp just exactly what was going on.

Whether Tempest enjoyed the attentions or not, he pitied her. The king’s advances were not something he’d wish on his worst enemy. He’d seen the effects of what Destin’s attentions begot. Pyre stopped his thoughts there. No need to go down memory lane.

He forced himself to release the windowsill and frowned at the claw marks he’d left. That was unfortunate. Nothing to be done. Tempest ducked underneath the king’s arm and moved toward the barracks. Pyre smiled to himself as he caught the look on Tempest’s face. She didn’t look pleased. That brought him more pleasure than it should have.

Chuckling quietly at himself, he sat down and then stretched out across her bed. From her expression, she looked as prickly as a porcupine. Their next interaction would bespicy, and he couldn’t wait. Her scent teased his nose, and he couldn’t help but roll around on her bed, rumpling the cover and spreading his scent everywhere.

You poor sod. Knock it off.

Pyre frowned at himself. He could not afford to care for the Hound. She was useful to him, and he was useful to her. Their relationship was one of business. So why couldn’t he get the last time they touched out of his head? Instead of attacking him when he was weak, she embraced him. Why? What did she seek to gain? His trust?

Familiar footsteps approached the door, and he shook the thoughts away. He had to be every inch the arrogant, charming, self-serving fox shifter Tempest knew and loathed. A smirk twisted his lips. She would hate to see him on her bed more than anywhere else. For that fact alone, it was worth creeping into Dotae just for the expression on her face.

The door opened, then closed so violently that its hinges rattled. Tempest blinked slowly when she caught sight of him, then flames leapt in her gaze, and his heart picked up pace. This was what he craved. The banter. The fight. With her.

The Lady Hound was rattled.

“Pyre,” Tempest said, so quietly it could barely be counted as speaking. The horrified, furious look on her face was priceless. Pyre’s mouth split into a grin immediately. “What the devil are you doing here?”

EIGHT

Tempest

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Tempest hissed. “What the devil are you doing here, Pyre?”

The fox shifter twisted around until he was lying on his front, chin resting on his hands. “I thought you might have missed me,” he mocked and batted his long lashes. God, he set her teeth on edge. “It has been so long,” the Jester lamented.

“I saw youyesterday,” she bit out. “Or did you forget about the fact you had me dragged to your bloody cave in the middle of the night?” The back of her head throbbed with pain at the memory.

Pyre waved a dismissive hand. “You left without saying goodbye,” he complained. He pouted, his lush bottom lip sticking out. “It offends me that you felt the need to sneak out, love.”

She wasnothis love.

“It offends me that your man clubbed me over the head likea barbarian.”

He smiled, flashing just a little fang. “Can’t help it, love. All my men dream of dragging a delectable female back to their lairs. You, on the other hand, have been very rude.” She flushed when he sat up and swung his legs over the side of her bed, then leaned back, lounging on her bed like he owned the thing, legs apart. The picture of self-indulgent nobility.

Bastard.

“Get off my bed,” she demanded.

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