Page 35 of Blood and Thorns

A sting of hurt pricks my chest, but I swallow it. “I’m not sorry,” I admit. “Not about this.”

His eyes close again, and his expression twists. “Nor am I. That’s the problem.”

I bite my lip, shifting closer so our bodies remain pressed together. My head rests on his shoulder, my leg draped over his. We lie in silence for a beat, as if neither of us knows what to do with this new territory we’ve stumbled into.

Eventually, I gather enough courage to speak. “This changes things, doesn’t it?”

He exhales, a ragged sound. “It might. Our arrangement—my mother’s scrutiny, your mission. We can’t afford to let desire cloud our judgment.”

He’s right, of course. A swirl of dread and euphoria tangles in my belly.We can’t let this overshadow our objective.But right now, I don’t want to think about politics or infiltration. I just want to cling to this fleeting moment, where I feel something other than fear or anger.

I prop myself up on one elbow, brushing my fingertips across his jaw. “Then let’s not think about the future. Just... tonight.”

A corner of his mouth lifts in a bitter-sweet smile. He turns his head to press a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “For tonight.”

We lapse into another hush. Outside the window, night deepens, the moon rising over the fortress walls. I sense the weight of unspoken truths between us, but for once, neither of us tries to fill the silence with empty words.

Eventually, he shifts, guiding me down so that my head nestles against his chest. He wraps an arm around me, wings rustling as though trying to shield us from the world. My body relaxes, lulled by the steady cadence of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps regrets, or a harsher distance that neither of us can bridge. But as the final embers of adrenaline fade, I let my eyes drift shut, exhaustion overtaking me.

In that small slice of time, I allow myself to believe we might share something other than our dangerous alliance. Because in Vaelorian’s arms, with his breath stirring my hair, I feel safe in a way I never have.

It’s a fragile illusion, but for this moment, I embrace it.

8

VAELORIAN

Iwake before dawn, sprawled in the dim glow filtering through Valeria’s chamber window. The heavy curtains are pulled halfway, letting a thin line of lavender light stretch across the polished stone floor. My body feels oddly weighted, a tangle of conflicting sensations. There’s warmth—her warmth—wrapped around me. Then realization floods in with a merciless rush.

She’s pressed against my side, her leg draped over mine, her cheek resting against my chest. Our breathing merges in a steady rhythm. My pulse kicks up.Last night really happened.I’m not the type to second-guess every decision, but as I absorb the reality of our shared intimacy, my mind churns with an unfamiliar mix of regret, longing, and resolve.

I trace the outline of her bare shoulder with my gaze. Her auburn hair spills across my arm, soft waves that hint at the ferocity of our coupling. Marks from my fingertips line her skin, faint bruises that speak of passion and desperation. Each bruise is a reminder of how I dropped my guard, letting a human slip through my defenses.

I should go.

The thought resonates. If I had more discipline, I would have left hours ago—before the darkness eased into twilight. But her presence lulled me into a rare, uneasy sleep. Now the sun threatens to rise fully, and the responsibilities of House Draeven won’t wait.

I shift, intending to slip away. But she stirs, letting out a soft sigh. Her eyelashes flutter before she opens her eyes, bleary with sleep. For a breath, she seems disoriented. Then her gaze locks on mine, and I see a mix of wonder and trepidation in that stormy gray. My chest tightens.

“Vaelorian,” she whispers, voice husky from slumber.

My name on her lips does something to me—unsettles the fortress I’ve built inside my mind, the place where I keep my emotions in check. I fight the urge to pull her back into my arms and lose myself again. Instead, I disentangle from her, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“This was a mistake,” I say quietly, forcing my tone flat.

She sits up, hugging the sheet to her chest. Confusion flashes across her face, but I don’t let her speak. If she apologizes, or tries to rationalize what happened, I might soften. That’s not an option.

“We have a mission,” I continue, pressing my feet to the cool floor. My clothes lie scattered—my coat draped over a chair, my shirt on the floor. I pick up the shirt, slipping it on with controlled motions. “I can’t afford distractions.”

She stiffens behind me. “Is that what I am?”

I don’t answer, busy with the buckles on my coat, though my hands tremble more than I’d like. I don’t want to lie. Yet I can’t be fully honest, either. The raw truth is that I can’t let myself care for her. My mother’s watchful eyes, the dark elf threat, the precarious standing of House Draeven—it’s all too great a gamble.

“It’s dawn,” I say curtly. “You have training scheduled, followed by a mission briefing with me. Be ready.”

I stand, wings folding tight as I cross the room to the door. My gaze flicks to her reflection in the metal mirror near the dresser. She watches me with an expression that blends hurt, resolve, and something I can’t decipher. A pang spears my chest.

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