Page 15 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
A gust of icy wind barrels through the rose garden, kicking up fallen petals, whipping them high in the sky. Pieces of carefully placed hair break free from my braid and whip around my face. Just as quickly as the wind materializes, it dissipates. In the silent moments that follow, a flurry of movement catches my attention from above. What at first appears to be snow is in fact… flowers. Rose petals rain down around us, dotting our hair and clothes with shades of pale peach, deepest red, and lemony yellow. We both stare, admiring the unusual weather phenomenon that so perfectly fits the theme of Roseheart.
“Well, I dare say it would be a travesty not to ask you to dance beneath a shower of roses.” Cassius offers me his hand. My fingers are quick to meet his. Warm, so warm. His other hand reaches for my waist, drawing me tight to his body. A small squeak escapes me at the close contact. This is not like my lessons. Those I dread. My back aches from keeping my posture appropriate and my feet swell from confinement. No, this is dizzying, light. I’m but a simple petal, weightless, drifting, and Cassius is the gentle breeze guiding my path.
He leads our dance, moving effortlessly. My skirts sweep along the ground, leaving swirls of petals in their wake. We waltz, the sounds of nature our only music. I stare up into those tawny eyes. They remind me of fall, of perfectly ripe pumpkins and brilliant autumn leaves. There’s a twinkle in those eyes. Mischief, glee, maybe both.
My gaze drops to the soft shape of his mouth. His full lips are perfectly relaxed save for the tiniest hint of a smirk quirking up the right corner. Not enough to reveal his dimples, but enough to make him dangerously alluring.
We dance beneath trellises of jasmine and past rows of flowering shrubs, covering the distance of the garden, laughing when one of us stumbles on an unruly root. Cassius halts our dance beneath an archway that’s bursting with braided purplewisterias. He runs a finger along the snow-white hair that falls across my face. My stomach tightens as he tucks it, his fingertips ghosting across the edge of my jaw for a moment before returning to his side.
My eyes again track down to his mouth. His lips part as he notices my attention. I could swear his head dips, a fraction closer. The muffled, soft sounds of petals landing on the stone below are in sharp contrast to the wild thumping of my exhilarated heart. I peer into his eyes, seeking clarity from his thoughts. I have the overwhelming urge to kiss him, and the sneaking suspicion that he’d let me.
Chapter 7
Harrow
Who is that?
Onehand on her waist, another clasping her delicate fingers.Someone is touching my things. My gaze narrows as I soak up every detail of their revelry. The part of me that is unable to stay away from Lenore, the part that plucks out my own feathers to leave on her pillow, that obsessive, dangerous thing that stalks her day and night, awakens, uncoiling and rising to attention. I’ve never seen her smile the way she’s grinning up at him. She looks undeniably happy. And it is not my doing.
All flowers within a four-foot radius of where I stand, fuming and agitated, wither. My eyes fixate on the tanned fingers that grip her delicate waist. They move ever so subtly as he caresses her through the silky fabrics.She is not his to touch. Lenorestills, halting their dance. The prince’s confident façade falters. A smile curves across my cheeks. Good. She’s come to her senses.
She rises on her toes, eyes falling shut and lips parting. She’s going to kiss him.No.Night explodes around me faster than a mortal can blink. It billows out, shadows shooting forward, engulfing every bit of daylight currently illuminating the garden. Mortal eyes cannot see in the dark. But I can. Iamthe dark.
The doting couple pulls apart in the moments immediately following the blackout. As their fear picks up, they reach for each other, both silently seeking comfort in the inky black that has stolen their sight.No. More. Touching.
My shadows strike from all directions. They drag the prince away from my raven, pulling him deeper into the thorny nest of shrubbery filling the garden. A thrill of elation jolts through me when he cries out in pain. The darkness mimics the wind, pressing against him, blowing him back, pinning him to the bushes.
With the prince taken care of, I shift my attention to my prize. Lenore stumbles around in the dark, arms outstretched. I slither behind her, using my shadows to corral her farther from the prince and ever closer to where I stand. The back of her head smacks into my chest.
Her voice is filled with panic. “Cassius?”
A growl tears out of me at the sound of his name on her lips. Lenore’s entire body tenses, no doubt realizing that thethingstanding behind her is no mortal prince. The warmth of her body rushes into me, fanning the spark I keep so quietly dimmed in my ribs. Her chest stills as she sucks in a breath and holds it. I lean down, lowering my mouth to the shell of her ear.
“Queen of Bones.” Reaching my hand around, I gently collar her neck. She swallows, still unbreathing. Even through the lacy fabric I can feel the subtle tightening of her throat beneath my palm. It sends blood rushing to my cock. Can she feel thehardening flesh pressing into her spine? The thought sends a tingle of excitement dancing through me. “Breathe.”
A new thrill skates across my skin as she follows my command. Her chest falls as she exhales, then sucks several rapids breaths in. My gaze flicks to where the prince is fighting through the darkness, forcing his way back to where we stand.
“Good girl,” I purr, keeping my voice low enough so that only she can hear me. "You belong to me, little raven. Which means no more touching.”
She swallows again. My palm instinctively tightens.
“Who are you?” Her whisper matches my own. That sultry, smoky voice has my head spinning. I enjoy the boldness she possesses. Most humans I’ve encountered would be shivering and soiling themselves in my presence. It pleases me to find her still able to speak amidst my shadowy display of power. Especially considering most mortals are afraid of the dark.
“Who are you?” she asks again.
She wants to know who I am?
I stroke my fingers across her throat, mimicking the motions of the prince’s hand along her waist. She sucks in a startled breath. That damned prince. He sours my mood once more. He’s fighting valiantly, closing the distance between us, swatting away my shadows as best he can.
Now is not the time for information. I’ll tell her everything, soon. I only need one piece of knowledge to stick with her following this encounter.
“The next time he puts his hands around your waist, he’ll find mine around his throat.” I allow my teeth to graze the shell of her ear, eliciting a shudder. Then, I vanish from sight, taking my army of shadows with me. In seconds, the grey winter day has returned. The only sign of my visit is the patch of blackened earth from where I once stood.
Lenore spins, eyes darting around the garden. Her fingers rise to skim across her ear, then land lightly atop her lace collar. The ghost of my touch must linger. I ache to have my fingers buried in her skin, no clothing, no barriers. I wish to drain the warmth from her flesh and suck the soul from her body. All while she moans so loudly it can be heard in my domain below.
What would happen if I were to use my hands, these wielders of death, to stain her soul? Would she perish in the grasp of Death himself? Would there be consequences for reaping a soul out of turn? Of course there would be. Am I willing to risk losing her to have her? My lips press in a tight line.
Her cheeks are flushed, mouth still parted, aquamarine eyes heavy with some unreadable emotion.
