Page 50 of Hunt the Dusk
“I suppose you can tell a lot from someone’s pulse.”
“The body doesn’t lie.” He pinned me with his gaze. “No matter what words fall from somebody’s lips.”
“Bodies are funny things like that. For example, the other night my body said I should punch you in the face, even though I knew it would be a bad idea. Luckily, mind over matter prevailed.” I gave him a perfunctory smile, and he returned it with an amused one of his own.
“This weekend may not be such a bore after all,” he said dryly. “I can’t wait to witness the scintillating conversation between you and the other nobles at dinner.”
“I won’t be joining you for that farce.”
“Farce?”
“Yep, a bunch of predators sitting round a table pretending to adhere to the human social norm of taking a meal together.”
“Your attendance is mandatory.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Your king.”
“You’re not my anything.”
“While you’re in my territory, I am your liege whether you like it or not.” His tone rivaled the ice shards swirling in the air outside the carriage. “Iallowyou to speak informally with me. Ipermityou to bypass the formalities others adhere to, but I am still your king, and while at the summit youwillobey me.”
His imperious tone sparked defiance to life in my chest. “And if I don’t?”
His mouth thinned, the smile that resulted cruel and hard. “Then I will be forced to punish you. Publicly.” He leaned toward me, golden eyes bright in the gloom. “It will not be pretty, and it will not be fun…for either of us.”
His gaze bore into me, daring me to argue further. I wasn’t an idiot, so I kept my mouth shut, which in hindsight was what I should have done earlier. The thin air was making me unnecessarily bold.
I made a zipping motion and threw away the phantom key.
He sat back, shaking his head. “Also, I promised your watchers that I would keep you safe. I cannot do that if you do not remain by my side in the evenings.”
Seriously? “Why didn’t you just say that instead of acting all high and mighty?”
His gaze flicked away. “I wasn’t acting, Miss Lighthart.”
The carriage rocked suddenly, and I slid to the left. Ezekiel grabbed hold of me before I could slam into the wall. The carriage lurched to the right, and Ezekiel pulled me into his lap, pinning me to his body, which hardly moved with the erratic swaying.
How was he doing that? “Is your ass glued to the seat?”
“No. But you’re more than welcome to check.” He grinned rakishly, and my stupid cheeks heated.
And that was how we arrived at our destination, with me seated in the vampire king’s lap, still recovering from the assault of his smile.
The carriage stableswere warm from the fire pits stationed in every corner, and the heat created a mist that drifted into the night from beneath the canopy of the slated roof. The smell of leather reminded me of Hemlock.
A young man with a patchy beard and frightened eyes escorted us through a door and into a corridor that led to the castle.
Stone steps, more featureless passageways, until we were led into what he called the southern wing.
“These are your rooms,” he said, bowing twice in quick succession. “I’m Banbury, your chamberlain for the duration of your stay.”
Ezekiel made a noncommittal noise, busy scoping out the huge sitting room. But my attention zeroed in on the six-foot-high portrait of Ezekiel hanging on one of the walls. God, the man loved himself.
There was one other room coming off this one. A bedchamber? I moved closer and peeked into the gloom, spotting the corner of a bed.
One bed.
