Page 32 of The Rook

“Nothing that would interest you,” she murmured.

“Everything you do interests me.”

Her heart stuttered.He’s playing you. Proceed with caution.She nodded at the teacup. “I hope that’s for you. Tea won’t cut it this time. You have any fire whiskey?” She didn’t drink spirits that often, but whiskey was the only thing that would chase the chill from her bones. Then, she’d have some tea.

Pyre chuckled and set the kettle back on its stand before moving from the fire to a glass-fronted cabinet behind the desk. He set the teacup on the wooden desk and removed a small bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. “Anything for my Lady Hound.”

“Donotcall me that,” Tempest warned. “You know I hate it.” It reminded her of Destin, someone she wanted nothing to do with.

An emotion flashed through Pyre’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for her to discern. She wasn’t the only one hiding things.

With deft hands, he poured two fingers of fire whiskey into a glass and then another with less. He picked up both glasses and moved to her side, holding the one with more spirits out to her. She took it carefully from him, her fingers brushing his. Something electric passed between them, but she ignored it. Tempest swirled her whiskey while Pyre sat in the armchair opposite her. She eyed his drink. If he was aiming to get her drunk, it wouldn’t happen. She was more careful than that. Plus, she had too many secrets that could come spilling out if she wasn’t cautious.

He raised his glass. “To surviving brigands, smugglers, and dragons, then.”

The smallest of smiles curled Tempest’s lips despite herself. Shehadsurvived all three, and, at least for a little while, she could rest and recover, but she didn’t raise her glass.

He frowned. “Not celebrating?”

She shrugged and took a small sip. “Seems wrong to tempt fate.”

“Fate?” he murmured. “Doesn’t exist.”

“Agreed, but let’s be careful, shall we? No need to be disrespectful to the powers that be.”

Pyre smirked. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m the Jester. Iamthe powers that be.”

FOURTEEN

Pyre

Tempest’s scent was killing him.

Every breath he inhaled made the primal side of himself roll beneath his skin. He was simultaneously drawn closer to her and repelled at the same time. The intoxicating smell of pine needles, mint, and female made his mouth water, but it was the scent of the dragon and Chesh that sent him almost to the edge of a frenzied madness he could barely suppress. The fingers of his left hand drummed along the arm of the chair as he tried to breathe only through his mouth. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to be in such close quarters with her?

Because she’s never affected you this way before.

He scowled and glared at the fireplace. What was his problem? His control was legendary.

And then there was the way she looked…

Pyre glanced at Tempest from the corner of his eye. Her hairwas a wild, wavy mess around her face and tumbled down her back. The blanket she’d been using as a cloak had slipped off her right shoulder, revealing pale, creamy skin. Skin he wanted to lick and bite.

He grunted and took another sip of the fire whiskey, savoring the burn. Tempest shifted in her chair, the blanket slipping farther, so he got a better look at her form beneath the silken nightgown. It was modest and covered more than most of the dresses women wore to court, and yet… It clung to every curve of her, exaggerating the lines of her body in such a way that it almost felt indecent. Pyre was struck by his desire to toss the young woman over his shoulder, take her to some white-columned temple, and worship her in every way he could think of.

And she had no clue.

Women were his favorite creatures roaming the world. He’d spent years in their company and had come to know when a woman was truly unaware of her beauty. Tempest was clueless. He pursed his lips and appreciated the way the fire illuminated her luxurious, periwinkle hair, turning it into seemingly magical flames. Her uncles should be ashamed of themselves for not taking more care of their most prized possession. They’d allowed her to enter the Jester’s lair, and she was a lamb among wolves.

She brushed a wayward lock from her face and gazed at the fire, oblivious to his staring.

Or she’s pointedly ignoring you.

It was most likely the latter. He knew she rarely missed anything. Despite this, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to bury his nose in her hair and drink her in, run his lips along her graceful throat.

Resist the urge.Just behave yourself. She’s the enemy.

He squeezed the glass in his right hand and forced himself to stop dwelling on things that could never happen. Plus, he needed to deal with the proverbial storm cloud hanging over her. She was angry with him and rightfully so, which was the best way for him to keep her at arm’s length. He had to keep the Hound on her toes—wondering what his next move would be—and she could not get closer to him. Things couldn’t change between them.It was risky giving her more knowledge than necessary. Tempest was unpredictable.

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