“I’m not afraid of you.” My words come out in a rasp, his fingers still digging into the skin of my throat.
I could break out of it, but dominance isn’t always won by escaping.
“Only fools are fearless,” he scoffs, but his palm eases off my neck. “Admit that I win.”
His face is inches from mine, end-of-the-day scruff on the slope of his jaw. The cut across his left eye has clotted over, but a scab hasn’t formed yet.
Was it earlier today that he almost lost an eye?
When I look past the perma-scowl, I can appreciate his delicate features and high cheekbones. Nothing likethe locals, especially in the pairing of those silver eyes with coffee-colored hair.
He’s released my throat but still grips my wrist against the wall next to my head. His palm is oddly smooth. Where are the calluses? His skin is feverishly hot. I have no idea if he’s always this warm or if he’s fired up from our scuffle, but he’s completely unbothered, and his breathing is even. He hasn’t broken a sweat at all.
Moisture beads on my own face.
I glare up at him. “Surrender denied. We were done. I assessed you and didn’t find you to be dangerous.”
“You’re wrong about me.” He curves over me. Dangerously.
Instead of wrestling away, I rise to the balls of my feet, sliding my back up the wall until we are nose to nose.
At this, he firms his mouth into a line as if he might frown or grin, but he does neither.
“What do you do for the corps?” I ask casually, to appear unruffled—when really, with his firm body pressed to mine, I’m increasingly aware of his mountain forest scent, his fierce winter-wolf eyes, his swollen red lips. The last one is thanks to my fist, but I find myself shamelessly wondering what they might taste like.
No more rich-people brandy for you, Delphine.
He’s not my type. He’s not sweet, he’s not trustworthy.
But the attraction is undeniably there.
Is it the thrill and panic of today? Or is some other element influencing me?
His brows pinch. He looks caught off-guard by my question.
“Messenger.” He doesn’t back off but releases my forearm as if it scalds him all of a sudden.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder why he’s looking at me that way. It’s a fiery look I’ve seen on the faces of previous lovers—one that spikes heat into my insides.
The alarming thought occurs to me that if he’s going to kiss me, he’d better do it soon, or we might just stand there glaring at each other all night.
Have I lost my mind? We basically just attacked each other in a back-alley fight. He’s not going to kiss me. Do I want him to? No! Though…the alley behind the Ghost Elkisknown for both drunkenfighting and strangers kissing in the dark.
His body tenses against mine as he dips forward. Dark lashes skim his cheeks as he drops his gaze to my mouth.Are we doing this?Gods, I haven’t kissed anyone in over a year. The only people I meet are the ones I command (not allowed) and Syf (definitely frowned upon and too revolting to even consider).
Blood rises into my cheeks. When they burn like this, I know they’re splotched red as if slapped. He must see it, because he grazes the back of his knuckles along one side of my face, setting off a prickle along my skin where he touches. Gods alive, the sultry confidence he possesses.
His lips part slightly.
He steps in until my back is flush against the wall. The cool stone on my shoulders is at odds with the striking warmth of his body. His breath smells of rich, oaky bourbon.
Footsteps echo from the end of the alley, turning both our heads.
He pushes back abruptly.
I kick off against the baseboards of whatever shop we’re behind. Probably a bakery, judging from the burlap sacks and barrels that probably held flour and the empty crates labeledSugar, a rarity in our lands.
It’s why candy and pastries are so expensive.