Something inside me goes white-hot and deadly still.
Baze’s hand lands on my shoulder, fingers digging in like hooks. I send my foot flying back and kick him in the kneecap, earning a guttural groan that has Rhordyn’s attention whipping our way.
That smile falls, leaving nothing but a stone slate.
No smile for me.
Today, they all belong toher.
I shrug Baze off and stalk forward, bunched hands swinging at my sides.
“Laith,” Rhordyn says, pebbling my skin as if he just tucked his lips against my ear and whispered it.
My next breath is nowhere near as sharp as the previous.
He never calls me Laith.
Even so, I plant myself in front of him—a tree with roots that bore into the soil like claws.
A bud of anger sparks inside me, and rather than tamp the erratic flame, I want to blow on it. To cradle andgrowit until he and I are nothing but piles of ash. Let the wind sweep us up and tangle us together. Let our demise finally put some reason to this endless fucking riddle.
Because I’m tired. So, so tired, and I’mnotokay with this—with that female standing amongst my roses, luring smiles from a man usually as apathetic as a gravestone.
His brow lifts.
A long, stiff moment hangs, our gazes locked as if we’ve just crossed swords. It’s a battle, yes. A war even.
I’m just not sure what’s at stake.
Overhead, the sky rumbles, but I refuse to blink. Refuse to break away. It’s as if something deep inside—that still, silent part that’s painfully aware—knows I’m standing on the edge of a different sort of chasm than the one that haunts my nightmares.
One that has the potential to ruin me.
The pushy ocean breeze assaults my back, shoving loose tendrils forward.
Reaching.
Rhordyn’s nostrils flare, stare darting to my neck and a low, silky rumble eases out of him.
The sound infuses me like a dose of Exothryl, hurtling my heart against too-brittle ribs, pumping blood that’s honey thick—heating my cheeks, plumping my lips, making my breasts feel hot and heavy.
Around us, the world seems to still ... or perhaps its significance simply falls away.
I let out a short breath and, despite my anger, find myself leaning forward like a flower stretching into a shaft of sunlight.
From somewhere behind me, Baze coughs.
The ball in Rhordyn’s throat rolls, and he slides back a step, shattering the tension. It feels like some of the shards ricochet and slice into my fervid, vulnerable flesh.
Part of me wishes those wounds were physical—that my blood was spilling, making him react the way he did when Dolcie pierced my flesh. Reminding him of my value and fortifying that crumbling bridge between us.
My sight veers, catching on a bare bush that’s always failed to yield anything but moss-green leaves.
Rhordyn clears his throat as if to dislodge the last of our tension. Or perhaps he’s trying to dislodgeme.
Either way, it hurts.
“Orlaith.”
