Page 142 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
Zandyr sighed so deeply, his shoulders sagged. He brought the back of my left hand to his lips, kissing the largest gash on it. My fingers ached to caress his cheek.
“Zandyr,” I began, breathing heavily with the sudden realization. “Howcan I tell you’re not lying?”
Chapter
Forty-Four
EVIE
Alow rumble resounded in Zandyr’s throat, though he kept his face impassive.
He still held my hands, towering over me with an oddly comforting intensity. Curiosity simmered in me, yearning for an answer.
The air around us crackled with anticipation.
When Zandyr finally spoke again, his voice was rich and raspy. “Remember when you asked me about drinking my blood at the wedding ceremony?”
I remembered the revulsion I’d felt then. Now the idea drummed through me like a craving. A hunger for everything that was him.
I nodded.
“And you were afraid it would affect you,” he went on, lulling me closer with his voice.
I gulped and nodded again. I had been afraid. Not anymore, gods help me.
“I told you–” He licked his lips, gaze enthralling me. “–I told you about fated mates.Truefated mates.”
My mouth went dry. Our lips inched closer, as if on their own accord.
Fated mates.
Fated mateswithZandyr.
My heart beat in triumph, but questions flooded my brain.
“But we haven’t drunk each other’s blood.” Yet. We hadn’t exchanged bloodyet.
“You’re wearing mine right now,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over my face and igniting my senses. “This is unheard of.”
“Is that why–” I swallowed thickly, the smell of Zandyr intoxicating me. “Why I canfeelyou?”
The previous wave of anger made so much sense now–it hadn’t been mine.
“I can feel you, too.” His voice was a caress, snaking down my neck and settling between my thighs. “You’re nervous.”
I guessed that was the best way to describe this bizarre mixture of trepidation and excitement. “Are we true fated mates?”
Zandyr hesitated. “Truth?”
“Yes. Please. Always.”
“Until we can read each other’s thoughts, we can’t be sure. There can be countless other explanations. Both of our powers coming to life at the same time. The power of our betrothal contract,” he said, and a little part of me deflated. I ignored it. “Magic is fickle. We’ll find out at the wedding.”
He rested his forehead against mine. We stood there for the longest time, hands intertwined, breathing each other in.
“If we are true mates,” I began. “What does that mean?”
Because the image he’d painted before wasn’t a pleasant one. I didn’t want to be so absorbed by him that I ignored the world around me.
