Page 57 of Thief of Souls
“I didn’t…. I don’t….”
“Stop lying to yourself.” It’s like my words steal all his hard-won control. Hunger stares back at me, naked and demanding. He wants me. The dragon wants me. “It took me a long time to realize what you came to my court for. You knew the truth of what I was, the power in my heart…. All you had to do was breathe a word of it to your king, and I would be looking over my shoulder for wraith assassins. I was angry, Mira.” He prowls toward me. “So angry, when I realized your deception. Until the day I wonderedwhyI hadn’t seen you again. What were you waiting for? What was holding you back from betraying me?” He stares down at me, an indecipherable look on his face. “And there is only one truth that can explain it: You couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”
It takes everything I have to tilt my chin defiantly. “I’m not an entirely wretched creature.Yes, I care. Sometimes I care too much. It’s always been my downfall. But the truth, Keir, is that it doesn’t change a cursed thing.”
“It changes everything.”
I snatch my hand back into a fist as he reaches for me, and if there’s a quiver in my voice, then so be it. “It changes nothing.” I shake my head. “You’re a dragon prince. You rule your own court. And I’m a wraith born bastard with a murderous… king who will never let me go. It wouldn’t—”
“What do you mean he won’t let you go?”
Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I wave the words away. “My oath of fealty is as heavy as a chain around my throat.” I give him a cruel smile. “You know what I can do, Keir. He’s never going to let me go free. He’s never going to give me up. I’m too important a tool for him to wield.” Pushing my hand against his chest, I head for the exit of the folly, desperately needing to fill my lungs with oxygen. I can’t breathe here, with him demanding more of me than I dare give. “Not even you can gainsay the whims of my king. So thank you. I’m flattered that you still find me intriguing enough to pursue, but we are done here.” I pause at the edge of the folly, hand resting against one of the stone columns as I glance back. One more time. “Business partners make bad bedfellows they say, and we both have our parts to play. I want to get my sister back. And you need the horn. So let me do my job and forget this foolishness.”
11
It’s almost as if he didn’t hear a word I said.
Keir fills my plate with all manner of bite-sized delicacies as we take our place at the banquet. He granted me a moment’s grace before he followed me from the folly, but there’s no escaping the heated look in his eyes.
This conversation is clearly not done.
Not even by half.
But I’ll play that game when it comes at me.
The enormous truncheon tables cover the lawn and groan beneath the weight of the food. Keir’s thigh presses against mine as he leans forward to slice more venison, and from the quirk of his lips he’s aware of it. A little shiver runs through me.
“You’re not tempting me,” I whisper in his ear as I sip my wine.
“Not even a little?”
“Not even an inch.”
“Liar,” he breathes, spearing some of the meat for me with his fork.
I stab his hand with my fork as he moves to put it on my plate, shooting him a sharp look. If he keeps this up, then everyone is going to wonder at his solicitousness. This is the kind of bullshit male fae get up to when they’re intending to claim a female.
A slow, dangerous smile curves over his lips and he simply dumps the meat on my plate, despite the white pressure marks my tines left behind.
I dare you,that smile says.
I tear my gaze away, taking out my anger upon my plate. I should never have admitted there’s a spark of something there for me. He’s going to be insufferable now.
“Keir,” calls a voice, startling me out of my misery. “Is this the lovely young woman you were telling me about the other night?”
The Lord of Mistmark appears, crisp in a dark blue coat with gleaming gold epaulets on his shoulders. A red cloak falls from one shoulder, the golden chain crossing his chest. His ever-present gloves are in place.
I nearly choke on a scallop.
Curse Keir. The last thing I need right now is distraction, and yet, clearly, I lost track of the mark.
“Merisel, my love,” Keir says, leaning back in his chair, his expression as genuinely warm as I’ve ever seen it, “allow me to introduce my friend, Alaric of Mistmark.”
Mistmark drags out a chair opposite us, and it’s only then that I realize Falion is on his heels like a well-trained dog. Clad in a silvery-green tunic with patterns that shift in the light, he’s somehow ridiculously hard to notice. Catching my eye, he arches a well-chiseled brow as if to demand to know what I’m looking at.
I am sitting at a table with my sister’smaybe-true-love, maybe-merely-a-conquest.
And his assassin.
