Page 76 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silas was clenching his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw shifting.
She sighed softly. “They’re in such a difficult position, I can never do it myself very well.” Amelia handed it to him without meeting his eyes. “Would you?”
He took the jar silently as she bared her back to him. Silas swallowed, studying the carvings, the way they sliced her skin apart, the edges mottled and inflamed.
He blew out a breath, dipping a finger into the salve, but hesitating before touching her. He hovered just above the painful looking marks.
“It does hurt,” she said, and he met her eyes in the mirror as though she had read his mind, “when you rub it in. But trust me when I say it helps more than it hurts.”
Silas kept her gaze for a moment, then nodded and focused on the runes again. He touched her skin as gently as possible, hating the way she tensed, her shoulder blades flexing. He rubbed the salve across the two runes, being as light as he could manage.
“You’ve been in unnecessary pain the whole time you’ve been with me in Lunarian?” he asked, hating how rough his voice sounded.
She bowed her head, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. “I tried to apply it myself, but it’s terribly difficult. I did my best.”
Silas swiped softly over the cuts one more time before stoppering the jar and stepping away. “You should have told me.”
Amelia turned slowly, eyes low. She leaned onto the dresser, gripping the edges with both hands. “It’s deeply personal,” she said, “and I’m very aware how people would look at it, and I get it. It’s reprehensible.” Amelia raised her head, eyes shining with sadness. “You and I have fought for years over academic prowess. Do you really think I wanted you to know about this? That I could have trusted you not to ruin my career with the knowledge?”
“Do you think so low of me?”
Amelia searched his eyes, and he could see her drawing conclusions. “I used to,” she admitted quietly.
Silas didn’t know how to respond. Her answer was fair. They had never gotten along. He had known that she would see him as untrustworthy, but it was still terrible to hear it.
He traced the edges of his teeth with his tongue as he watched her, eyes flicking to the reflection in the mirror, seeing the runes on her back. Stepping back into her space, he held her gaze.
“Tell me who did it.”
Amelia sighed, lowering her head again. Silas reached up, taking her chin, and forcing her to look back up. She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch.
“Tell me,” Silas demanded, palm coming to rest against her throat as he kept his thumb and forefinger against the sides of her jaw to keep Amelia’s eyes locked on him. He felt her swallow against his hand before she answered.
“What would you do with the information?”
He considered that as he stared into the depths of her dark eyes.
Kill them?
Perhaps return the favour?
He wasn’t sure, but Silas needed to know who was capable of such a monstrous thing.
He didn’t answer because he didn’t know.
Slowly, she shook her head against his hold.
“It will do no-one any good for you to know,” she said.
“Winslow,” he warned, and before thinking on it, his free hand gripped at the dip of her waist. It was only when his fingers touched her soft, bare skin that he remembered she wasn’t wearing a shirt.
She gasped breathily at the intimate touch. He expected her to push him off, to demand he move away with the way he caged her in. Instead, Amelia just looked up at him, a flush growing on her cheeks.
Then he felt it.
A wave of excitement, of anticipation, of…arousal.
It didn’t come from him.
