Page 98 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

Hanson hovered at my elbow, elegantly removing two more glasses from the tray and urging the servant to find other, thirsty nobles elsewhere, before nudging my arm. “There is a discreet corner among the plants near the back table if you need a moment, my dear.”

I turned to glare at him, opened my mouth as if I’d tell him where to go, then stopped.

Hanson tipped his head to the corner he’d mentioned, then looked back at me with one eyebrow hoisted in a question. Or perhaps a challenge.

Taking another swallow from my cup, I swept past him towards the tall grasses and potted trees that decorated the corners of this hall.

When I’d slipped between two of the taller plants and positioned myself so I could look between fronds to watch the dance floor—as if I wanted to surveil Donavyn covertly—Hanson positioned himself with his back to the room, shielding me from view.

“Just take a moment to breathe… and perhaps drink,” he said softly. His tone was gentle, bemused, yet his eyes never lost that gleam of intensity.

When I didn’t respond and let my eyes remain on the dancefloor, he leaned closer. “You do not deserve this sort of… humbling, Lady Brennan,” he murmured with a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Donavyn. “In truth, I thought your General was above this kind of petty display.”

“So did I,” I muttered, then closed my mouth quickly, as if I hadn’t planned to say it.

Hanson’s smile faded and he leaned closer. “I would never embarrass you in this way. Should you come under my… purview, you will be celebrated until you do not wish to be any longer, then you will be gracefully given your freedom. These vultures need know nothing.”

I tore my eyes from Donavyn and stared him straight in the eye. “And if you wish to give me freedom before I wish to receive it?” I asked tartly.

Hanson’s lips curled up on one side. “Negotiation, remember? I do not need the approval of these idiots—nor their commentary. Whatever happens in my home, or within my affairs, remains none of their business. Whatever we choose between us, we will work out the details as suits us, and they can swallow their gossiping tongues.”

I clenched my teeth and pretended to think. “I still don’t know whether to trust you. I have been… uncovering information about you.”

He tilted his head. “And what did you find?”

“There are rumors, but no certainty. Some women even believe you do not desire women because they cannot name a single affair.”

Hanson smirked. “Because I am discreet.” He locked eyes with me and his expression hardened. “You need never step foot inside this castle again, unless you would choose so. My estates are… abundant. No one need know a thing.”

I inhaled and looked over his shoulder to the dancing couple, but Hanson took the half-step to stand at my toes and loom over me, staring down, breaking my view of Donavyn. “Not even your General.”

34. A Dragon’s Fire

~ BREN ~

Hanson’s breath fluttered one of the tendrils of hair that had fallen from my twist. It tickled my neck and raised goosebumps of unease.

He didn’t know that, though. He tipped his head, his eyes trailing down my jaw, to my neck and his eyes darkened as he saw the effect he had on me, and assumed it was arousal. Without a word he lifted his hand, turning it so that his palm was away from my face… then trailed the backs of his fingers down my neck.

I trembled, fighting the natural recoil and keeping my eyes on his chest—a tired mouse in sight of a cat, measuring whether to flee or surrender. When his knuckles reached the high neckline of the dress I stiffened, preparing to pull away, and he hesitated. His eyes dragged back to mine. Neither of us spoke for a time.

“Brennan,” he finally croaked and the blaze of heat in his gaze sickened me. I flinched.

With a whispered curse, I pressed back into the tree fronds, breaking eye contact, my senses shrieking alarm while I stammered excuses.

“I need more time, Hanson. Time to… to smooth the road. To ensure my own security—”

“I don’t have it,” he said tightly.

I went still, praying he’d think I was torn and my trembling was borne of desire instead of fear. Swallowing hard, I made myself meet his eyes again—his eyes that had grown dark with want and that uniquely masculine drive for dominance.

“What is… the last possible moment. Give me… tell me precisely—”

“From this evening? Three nights, two days. On the morning of the third day, events will… overtake me. Barring an alternative, I will be committed.”

I cursed, but nodded slowly, eyes on the floor, pretending to mentally scan, plan, scheme.

“Give me two nights. Tonight, and tomorrow.”