Page 57 of Cursed Shadows 1

Instead, I let a small smile grace my lips.

The small grin that reveals his teeth is enough to ignite a blaze inside me. Might just take a bite out of me, and it thrills me.

My heart skips a beat, and I’m sure he must hear it.

My thighs ache to press together, and I’m sure he must smell it.

But I keep a wandering stroll on the mat as I near him.

Distantly, I’m aware of more watching us now. The dark ones watch me, not all of them, but enough that I sense the cut of their sharp stares like blades down my body. Some litalves have noticed, too. Their watchful stares are less kind, more suspicious, and rife with the tension I feel thicken the air.

The dokkalves find entertainment in me. The litalves find betrayal in me, and perhaps fearforme.

What matters is what I feel, and that’s nothing outside of this intense pull that draws me to him, always when he’s around, I need to be near him.

My pace remains wandering as I circle him, once, twice, and he turns to watch me every step of my way.

I come to a stop in front of him, a couple of steps back, but still within arm’s reach.

Daxeel never hides the way he looks at me. So he doesn’t hide it now as he runs his natural kohled eyes over my body.

Deep blue satin clings too immodestly to my curves.

Do you see I wear this colour for you, the same shade as your eyes, dark one?

It’s nothing special, just a dress with a hemline that made father scowl when I headed out for the fields come nightfall. It was definitely the low neckline that had him shouting at me to take a shawl, a shawl discarded on the grass with my boots.

I’m not male, so I can’t sense arousal.

I’m not dark fae, so I can’t smell it either.

But I see enough as I mirror him and rinse my gaze over his form, that tightness in his leathers.

So when I flick my eyes back up at him, a smirk has painted itself onto my mouth and, as I step back and lean all my weight onto the one foot, I point out at him with my knife.

The tip of it presses against the dip between his collarbone.

His lazy grin widens, sharper teeth bared, and I might just fall at his feet.

“If you beat me, dark one,” I start, keeping my tone flippant, as though I’m not aching for him, “you may have the honour of dancing with me at the High Court.”

My peripherals both light up and shudder. On one side, dark males smile and grin and bare their teeth in silent snarls. It’s something of an approval, a liking to my obvious and blunt flirtations, my foolish bravery. It’s the litalves who shudder with tension, with distaste, and draw in more attention.

But I made my decision.

And I stand by it.

I blink something innocent up at him.

Fall into my eyes as I fall into yours.

Daxeel doesn’t retreat from the bite of the knife. He lets the tip press into his honeyed skin, where a thick drop of blood starts to swell, and I’m convinced dokkalf blood is actually tar.

Looking down at me, his lashes lower over his eyes as the grin fades away. It should strike through me like lightning, how suddenly dangerous this all is, how threatening he looks without that disarming smile.

But his words keep me placated. “I prefer not to dance, but I accept your challenge if my prize is—” He pauses to smile something feral. “—a taste.”

More grins flash at my left. Growls from my right.

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