Page 169 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Whatever the motive, it warmed me more than the entire bottle ever could have.
I fixed my gaze on the flames.
I burned, too.
With unspoken truths I needed to let out before I truly ended up in one of these coffins.
I took another swig of alcohol, grimacing at the taste.
“Thank you,” I said, eyes lingering on the fire. I couldn’t have uttered the words if I’d been staring at him.
“For what?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious and taken aback.
“For everything.” I took a long inhale; I needed a good breath for what I was about to say. “For not being as rotten as I feared a Blood Brotherhood Commander and former Northern heir to be. For saving me. For offering me shelter. For not judging my mistakes. For not letting me crumble. For still trying and not looking away then I was at my weakest. For–” I licked my lips. I tasted tears once more. “–for not letting my father rot there in the garden. For having my back against my own family. For letting me roam free. For letting the storm rage inside me. For being the kind of enemy that stood by me more than any ally. For being you and allowing me to be myself. My messy, maddening self.”
The silence that followed was so thick, I had to take another swipe from my glass; soon enough, I might swipe his bottle. I laid my palm against the edge of the table.
The crypt was now deathly silent, except for the fire in this chamber and our mingling breaths.
Just when I felt the tension rise, his voice cracked the stillness. “It’s my honor, Huntress.”
“Allie,” I piped up and finally looked at him. “My name’s Allie.”
Trust went both ways.
Underneath my fingers, the table began to warm. Or maybe it was my body heating up under his eyes.
“Allie.” A slow, open smile bloomed on his face as he inclined his head. If I concentrated hard enough, I could imagine we were just meeting at a ball and this handsome stranger had asked me for a dance–instead of drinking a ceremonial hooch, surrounded by graves. “I’d like to think you would have done the same for me.”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. Out of sheer stubbornness to have him not die on me, if nothing else. “I might’ve housed you in a dungeon, though.”
He huffed a laugh. I’d never heard him so unrestrained. “Told you you’re a brat.”
He was funny, too.
Shit.
“Maybe I am.” I took one more gulp of alcohol. It didn’t burn as hard now. Maybe I could blame it on my loose tongue. “But you like it.”
“Fuck me, I do.” He turned his head and bowed. “Sorry, mother.”
Instead of sobs, the chamber resounded with my laughter. Unrestrained, raw, a bit unhinged. But laugh I did.
And it felt fucking good.
“How do you do that?” I asked, wiping the last of the tears from my eyes.
“Do what?”
“Somehow cheer me–” The words died on my lips as I looked up at him and caught him watching me with an intensity that burned hotter than the table. That smile of his had turned soft and there was such a gentleness in his eyes, I couldn’t help but leaned forward toward him.
His gaze traveled to my mouth and his tongue darted out, like a man parched for eternity, desperate for a sip of water.
He looked like he wanted to drink me whole.
And I wanted to let him.
As our faces drew close enough together to feel his breaths on my cheeks, a flutter from the corner of my eye caught my attention.
