It snares me.Unhingesme.
Flicking my tangled hair back with an angry toss of my hand, I spin to face Rhordyn and freeze.
There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—a wildness that’s hunting every breath. Every blink. The flutter of pulse in my throat.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the way he’s standing over me, smothering my view so all I can see ishim. So every breath I draw has come from his chest, and each release is consumed by the same.
I quickly realize I’m entirely out of my depth, and I have one of two choices: swim ... ordrown.
“Cover yourself,” he grates out, and I only have a second to shield all my important bits before his hand whips out and strikes through several strips of Cainon’s gown, the movement so swift I barely feel a thing.
Scraps flutter to the ground while others cling to my wet skin, though Rhordyn’s too busy digging through his draw to pay attention to my half-naked state. A shirt is tossed at me before he begins to pace the room, back and forth in front of the massive bed.
His strides are long and violent, hands ripping through sodden, silver-kissed curls.
Figuring he wants me to put the damn top on, I peel the remaining few scraps of blue from my body before tugging his shirt over my head, but I’m snagged the moment I do, pausing with my head halfway through the hole.
Digging my nose into the soft, luxurious fabric, I draw a quiet breath through the fibers, letting my lids flutter shut ...
All I can smell ishim.
He’s worn this recently, perhaps even slept in it.
This material has been wrapped around his body. Touched him in ways I’ve never been able to.
The realization spikes heat through my veins that spears right between my legs. My skin tingles, and I have to clamp my lips shut to stopper a moan while forcing the rest of my head free, features smoothing in an effort to mask the utter ecstasy twisting me up.
But Rhordyn’s not looking at me—at the hem that falls to mid-thigh or the sleeves hanging around my elbows. He’s too busy pacing like some tortured beast.
He glances down to his own ruined top as if he just remembered I gouged his chest, and he tips his head, muttering words to the roof that make no sense at all. Gripping the hem, he tugs it over his head in a single motion, revealing powerful bricks of muscle I can’t peel my eyes from.
But it’s not his fierce, statuesque beauty that has me staring. It’s the blood dribbling down his torso, drawing from four deep scratches that cut straight through segments of his silver-scrawled tattoo.
My tongue sweeps across my lower lip as I slide forward one staggered step—
“No,” he barks, and my gaze snaps up.
He’s still, pointing at me, the muscles along his jaw popped and prominent.
My head kicks back. “Stop talking to me like I’m some disobedient puppy!”
“If you were simply disobedient, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he states, launching into another barrage of back and forth.
I sigh. “Whatmess, Rhordyn?”
“How many days did he give you?” he asks, avoiding my question altogether.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He nails me with a glower that makes me feel naked despite the sheath of his top and the full-time mask I’m cursed to wear. “Days, Orlaith. How many?”
Ah, right.
I should have figured he’d be talking about Cainon. The only splashes of color in this entire room are the shreds of material lumped at my feet and the dark blue cupla shackling my wrist.
That, and the blood webothwear.
