The contact struck like a spark, anger, and something more dangerous, more forbidden, igniting in the space between us. His arm was all lean muscle, warm against mine. That honey-jasmine scent, sharp and intoxicating, wrapped around me before I could stop it.
Before I could leave, he grabbed me by my arm. I heard Thalen protest in the background, but it just shimmered into noise.
Our eyes locked as if searching for something.
“You were too stubborn to stop because, deep down, you can’t stand being a Solenhart,” he said, voice low and merciless. “Deep down, you know exactly how much your family’s brutality has hurt this island. And deep down, you think you deserve to be punished for every sin they committed.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out.
Lorik Draventh had peeled me open with a single sentence, reading through me as if he’d reached straight into my mind and dragged out every buried fear I’d tried to pretend wasn’t there.
“Let me go,” I demanded, but he didn’t.
We just stared at each other, unblinking, unguarded, like our anger had cracked something deeper open between us.
“You don’t know me,” I said finally, my voice trembling with fury. “You’ve made it very clear you don’t care who I am as a person, you only see the last name. And yes, I am a Solenhart. We are ruthless.”
I leaned in, breath sharp.
“I’ll show you ruthless.”
Something twisted in my chest I didn’t recognize.
Anger. Hate. Want.
It all blurred together.
Then I broke the gaze, and he let my arm go, and I just walked away.
Chapter 15: The Dream
Thalen walked me back to my room, hands deep in his pockets, unhurried. He filled the silence, venting about Lorik Draventh, how Lorik lived to intimidate me, how badly Thalen wanted him gone.
In my head, rage simmered, I wanted to rip that smug Dragontail expression from Lorik’s face. Self-disgust clawed at me for ever trying to be nice, for apologizing, for searching for the best in someone who’d only ever wanted to torment me for my family’s sins. Normally,
Normally, I’d obsessively replay the encounter: every word, every glare, burning it into my memory until I could torture myself over what I should have said.
But for once, I said what burned in my chest and I felt proud. Fiercely and unexpectedly proud of myself.
When we reached my door, Thalen finally stopped talking. He looked at me with eyes I knew too well, dark with want, soft with something closer to longing. He saw me with desire, with that same old fire.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to.
I knew exactly where this was going.
And for one fleeting second, I let myself be in it. I was bone-tired. Drained by the day. Hollowed out by the week. Worn down by the endless cycle of proving myself to people who refused to really see me. I longed to be acknowledged, to feel cherished. Maybe even loved.
Thalen stepped closer. I didn’t move.
I could feel the heat of him, hear the shift in his breath. My pulse spiked. Then, with a gentleness that made it worse somehow, he reached up and brushed my hair behind my ear, leaning close too close.
“Good night, Thea,” he whispered.
Then he kissed me, slowly and deliberate, on the cheek, lips just barely grazing the corner of my mouth. And then, he walked away.
I stood frozen, hand tight on the door, trying to shake off the storm Thalen left in his wake.
I almost let myself slip.
