Page 8 of A Dance of Water

White hair.

She groaned.

Was it too late to go back to sleep?

"What’s wrong?" asked from somewhere in the dark corners of the room.

She yelped, jerking the sheet up to cover her chest.

She thought she would have time! Why was he here already?

"Graves," Luella managed, still holding the sheet to her chest. Her cheeks burned. Had he seen?—

With a barely grounded breath, she turned her head, finding the raven shifter reclining in an armchair pushed against the wall. He was cast in shadows. The room had very little light, with the thick cover of clouds and no candles lit. She would not have seen him if it were not for him announcing his presence. But she would havefelthim.

That call. It tugged her in five different directions, one leading right to where he was watching from the shadows.

She wanted to go to him. The scent of spiced honey made hermouth water, and her thighs clenched. She had the sudden desire to kiss him, strange images of entwined bodies and slick skin playing in her mind.

Graves stood, the chair creaking under him. His hood was pushed back, and she did not see his cowl. A gloved hand came up to stroke over the shadow along his jaw. His eyes burned, twin pools of lapis lazuli that bore holes into her heated skin.

"Good dreams?"

She could not look him in the eyes, studying the sheets bunched in her fists.

The silk was cool in her hands, and a tiny little thread was loose at the edge; she picked at it with her fingernail, watching it unspool from her touch. A shimmering sun blotted out by the swirl of a fingertip sweeping throughout, leaving just as quickly as it had arrived.

Strange.

The floor creaked.

Gloved hands settled on the mattress, pressing down and forcing her to dip to the side slightly. A scorching touch under her chin, lifting her head. "Look at me."

She allowed him to move her. He owned her, after all. They all did.

Luella blinked up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth as he searched her blue eyes. He reached forward, running the sleep-rumpled strands of her white hair through his fingers like water. He was kneeling by her bedside, and they were almost at eye level.

"You slept well, I take it?"

She shivered from his touch—even through the barrier of his glove, she felt him. It took everything in her not to lean toward him and seek out his warmth, seek out his scent. Follow that call and see where it might lead. Discover if his lips were as punishing and hot as she recalled.

He tugged on her hair where it was tangled in his grip—a silent demand for her to answer. He hated it when she ignored him, yet he had the terrible habit of not answering her questions, either.

"Yes," she breathed.

The scar on his face tugged as his lips twitched with the start of a smile. She could not stop staring at his mouth.

"My eyes are up here," Graves teased.

Her skin warmed even more if it was possible. She felt as though she was in a constant state of heated embarrassment around him—all of them.

He placed a palm over hers, where she was gripping the sheets to her chest.

And she could not help it, she had to ask. The question was burning her throat, bubbling up over her tongue and spilling out of her lips before she could stop herself: "H-how much did you see?"

He clicked his tongue in thought, leaving her to hang in her state of nervous humiliation for as long as he could. She wanted to punch him, reach up with her hand, and claw that satisfied smirk right off his scarred lips.

Goodness, where had that come from?she thought.

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