Another beat of quiet stretches between us.
“The truth was that I was thinking about you,” he admits with a heavy sigh. “Which is why I now find myself states away from my own territory.”
That pulls a breath from me. The intensity that radiates from him whenever he looks at me or speaks about me should spark a bit of fear in me, but that isn’t what comes over me at all in this moment.
Just surprise, warm and sudden.
Perhaps a bit of intrigue, as well.
“You thought about me?” I ask softly.
He lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. “Briefly…in passing.”
I narrow my gaze slightly, tilting my head. “And now that you’re here, what are you thinking about?”
His eyes don’t leave mine for a long moment. They’re steady and searching.
“Stillfiguring that out.”
I cross my arms, more to steady myself than to create distance.
“I suppose we can both stay awake together,” I murmur, lifting a brow. “For now.”
His smirk unfurls slowly, a lazy, dangerous thing that curves at the edges like smoke curling from a dying fire. It does something to my pulse I can’t quite rationalize.
“I didn’t realize you would be so accommodating. Perhaps I should have come earlier.”
I shrug, the motion casual, even though my heart rate is anything but. “Maybe I’ve always been this way, or maybe you bring it out of me.”
I don’t know why those are the words that spill from me. I didn’t sit and ponder what would be a safe response, unlike the pattern I had fallen into with Azyric.
For some reason, in Riven’s presence, all I’m focused on is the current moment.
At my words, his eyes narrow. Seconds later, the tips of his fangs protrude just barely.
“This is a dangerous game, little wren.”
His gaze dips, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of me with no apology–lingering just long enough for the weight of it to settle warmly against my skin.
“Is it?” I counter, my words coming out much breathier than I intended.
He rises from the chair and crosses the distance between us in a single breath. Suddenly, he’s on his knees between my parted legs, making our faces level for the first time. One of his hands lifts before he moves it toward my face slowly, giving me plenty of time to deny his touch.
My mouth parts with a breath, but no words come.
His knuckles trail along the edge of my jaw, a caress that barely qualifies as touch, but feels like it was meant to leave a mark.
“You’ve been under my skin since the first moment I saw you,” he says so quietly, almost like he’s quietly speaking to himself. “I’m not used to feeling that.”
The words stir something deep in my chest. A fluttering sensation.
“Sounds uncomfortable,” I manage, forcing the words through a throat that’s suddenly too tight. “You should probably have that looked at.”
He huffs a soft laugh, and the sound, like everything else about him, is both rich and edged in heat.
I want to hear it again.
“Maybe you’re right,” he muses. “I’ve heard there’s no cure for it, though. Something about attraction being a terminal condition.”
