I swallowed, frozen in place against the door. I realized that I was holding my breath. I didn’t want to breathe in his scent. I knew the second I did it would be over for me. “I fuckinghateyou.”
His lips pressed gently against the hollow beneath my cheekbone, skating along the skin toward my jaw. “What about now?”
“Now?” I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. Thoughts no longer existed inside my incoherent mess of a brain. There was only feeling. And gods, did I feel. What he was doing to me was excruciating. I struggled to remember exactly what I had been mad at him about.
“Mm.” The rumble in his throat vibrated through me, and my thighs clenched involuntarily.
“I – I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? But you were sosure, Lirah.”
My shortened name on his lips undid me. I breathed. And instantly regretted it. He was peppermint and leather, the saltwater of the ocean and power so heady it disoriented me. His scent was so utterly Kilian. And it consumed me. I wanted to drink it from a bottle and then find the source, so I could guzzle straight from it.
His lips trailed along my jawbone, skirting the underside and my traitorous necklifted. Only an inch, but it lifted, granting him access to my thin, vulnerable skin, and the heartbeat he could undoubtedly feel hammering away beneath.
“I–”
All thoughts vanished entirely as his teeth grazed the dip beneath my ear, his tongue sweeping instantly across the spot. He sucked at the skin, drawing circles with his tongue and my knees… went… weak.
Lust clouded my vision, my eyes shutting as I gave way to the feeling, allowing it to consume me wholly. I needed more. I needed his body pressed against mine and fistfuls of his shirt in my hand. I needed his hair between my fingers and his face between–
“Your friends are coming,” he murmured, dragging his mouth back up to my cheek. He pulled away slowly. His eyes were hooded, a smug smirk on his lips.
“If you won’t train with me, I’ll send someone else. But youwilltrain, Lirah.” And then he was walking away, as if he hadn’t just assaulted my neck in the most tantalizing way and left me completely breathless. “And I’m still waiting for that paperweight you stole.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
His answering chuckle set my blood on fire.
CHAPTER 11
I awoke in a panicked fever, sweat trickling down my nape. I stared around my room, but it was pitch dark. When I closed my eyes again, I saw gleaming yellow eyes and blood on my hands.
I pried my eyes open. My legs were tangled in the sheets. Yanking the covers off, I crossed to where a sphere of artificial light the elven seemed to favor over candles – orblight, I’d learned it was called – sat in a sconce. I ran my hand over the cool globe and soft light filled the space.
No arrow-tailed lancer. No blood. Just white sheets, a nondescript dresser and Calendula, curled up on the side of the desk, fast asleep.
My stomach gave a loud grumble. I couldn’t go back to sleep. Not when my mind was so agitated. I needed a walk. A midnight snack or a glass of warm milk with honey, like Umma used to make when I could not sleep.
I glanced down at the pajama set I wore – a soft flannel top with matching bottoms – before deciding that I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I doubted anyone would still be up and roaming the corridors in the middle of the night, anyway.
I slipped quietly from the room, careful not to disturb Calendula, and made my way to the mess hall upstairs.
As anticipated, it was deserted. The benches stretched out through the space, orblight floating dimly above them. It was eerie, standing in the empty hall with nothing but my thoughts for company. I shrugged off the feeling as I took a seat at one of the tables and waited.
Usually, the food appeared before me. As if it knew I were there, waiting. But now, nothing happened. I tapped a foot against the stone and envisioned warm milk. My nose scrunched in concentration and my eyes squeezed shut. Still, nothing.
I didn’t know exactly how the food situation worked here. I was annoyed at myself for not caring enough to figure it out. Perhaps meals were only delivered at designated mealtimes. In which case, I would have to just suck it up and go back to bed.
“What are you doing?”
I swiveled around to stare at the door.
Kilian leaned against the threshold, one ankle casually crossed over the other. He was not dressed for bed. But he did not look ready for battle like usual either. He wore a deep black shirt that hugged the contours of his frame and dark pants. Heavy boots completed his ensemble.
My cheeks burned as I remembered our earlier encounter. I doused my embarrassment in irritation. “Why are you everywhere I go?”
He raised a brow. “In my own home?”
