Page 68 of The Rebel and the Rose
‘Just… take a breath.’
She didn’t want to breathe too deeply or think too hard about what had just happened. The truth was, she felt… wretched. Embarrassed by what had transpired with Nadia, terrified of what she’d almost done in the mist of her own rage. And then there was Ransom’s nearness, wreaking havoc on her heartbeat. It was the heat of him, the slow tilt of his head and the curve of his lips as he watched her.
He moved closer and, saints help her, she spread her legs, allowing him to stand between them.
‘I’ve just figured you out, spitfire.’
Arching a brow, she looked up at him. His eyes were on her lips.
‘You can’t tell Nadia what kind of saint you are, can you?’
‘Maybe I don’t want to.’
‘Maybe you don’t know.’ He hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her head back. ‘Maybe that terrifies you.’
Magic roared through her blood, that thread in her chest going taut.
He smiled, like he could feel it. ‘Tell me I’m right.’
She wrestled for control of her own body. ‘You’re unprofessional.’
‘Only a little,’ he said, soft and low. At the warmth of his breath against her lips, her lids fell to half mast. All thought eddied away, the warning shouts in her head growing fainter, until it was just the two of them, teetering on the edge of that bonfire of lust. She twisted her hands in his collar, yanking him closer. ‘And it’s none of your business,’ she said, through her teeth.
‘I’m a saint-killer,’ he said, in that same seductive rumble. ‘I’m afraid it’s entirely my business.’
How could one man make murder sound so damn appealing? She really was losing her mind. Her heart thundered madly, magic crackling on her lips.
Brushing his thumb there, he murmured, ‘Fascinating.’
Thwack!
Ransom reared backwards, his hand flying to the back of his head. ‘What the fuck?’
Caruso was standing in the narrow doorway. He was cradling the black cat, and by the looks of things, had just fired a thesaurus at Ransom’s head. ‘What’s going on in here?’
‘Nothing.’ Sera raked her hands through her hair, hastily settling the unruly strands… trying to hide the disappointment guttering through her. Not that hurling herself at the Head of the Daggers would have made for a particularly good decision, given she was planning on betraying him – and their entire mission – fairly soon, but in that charged moment, with his lips so close to hers, his heart thundering just a few inches away, it had felt like the right move. The only move. She could have sworn her magic had wanted it just as badly.
‘This’d better be important,’ snapped Ransom.
‘The provost is back. I think we’ve officially outstayed our welcome.’
Sera slid off the desk. ‘Good. We’re done anyway.’
‘Uh-huh,’ drawled Caruso, languidly petting the cat in his arms.
They returned to the others. Theo was talking to the provost, probably trying to smooth over the scene they justcreated down here. Nadia was keeping her distance, still stewing somewhere in the stacks. Ransom went to speak to her, while Sera drifted towards Theo.
‘Nothing of much use in here, I’m afraid…’ Theo was saying. ‘Unless you count his fevered obsession with the saints.’
‘That’s all Andreas was in the end.’ The provost rubbed his forehead as he looked into the alcove, his gaze flitting over all those ledgers and loose papers. ‘We shared a common interest in Saint Oriel’s prophecies, though I admit I did not expect the Second Coming to begin quite this soon. Or even in my lifetime. Many of us here at the Appoline have been waiting for it.’ His brow furrowed as he looked away. ‘Some more urgently than others.’
An ominous feeling came over Sera, raising the hairs on her arms.
‘Are you unhappy now that it’s finally here?’ she said, reading the strain on the provost’s face.
He looked between them, weighing his words. Perhaps it was the absence of the Daggers, who were out of earshot, or the earnest curiosity on their faces, that made him relent. ‘My studies lead me to believe this new Age of Saints will not be like the last one. This time, fate will play a different hand. Power will be given, and power will be taken. Some saints will fall into their destiny, while others will chase it.’
‘Do you mean that some will be more worthy than others?’ said Theo, glancing at Sera. What was that shadowed look in his eyes just now? Was he thinking the same thing that she was – that she was some kind of divine accident, a saintunworthy of the power in her veins? Was that why her magic refused to listen to her?
