Page 71 of Embers of Ruin

“I hate you, Thorin,” I breathe, lying to myself and my body.

“Then act like it,” he growls, fisting my curls as he cups my sex again. The moan that escapes me is so feral and explosive I almost come undone.

I want him so badly that I’m probably going to let him fuck me right here, in the middle of the corridor. I’ve lost all common sense, and I. Don’t. Care.

“Say it again,” he breathes against my neck. It sends a shiver through me, straight to my core.

“I hate you,” I whisper, but the emotion behind it isn’t there. It’s lost its usual intensity tonight.

“I want you to hear yourself. That’s what you sound like when you’re lying.”

I look at him, mouth parted slightly, and damn it, I can't help but stare into those eyes—silently urging him to do more than tease.

“You kissed my Captain, muya quenati.” A simple statement.

“Yes,” I answer breathlessly.

“Never do that again.” His shadows coil tighter around my waist, and the gesture is so possessive and primal that I gasp.

Before I can respond, he seals my mouth with his, and color explodes behind my eyes. Gods, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him. It’s as if his body already knows me, knows exactly what I need—and gods, I hate how much I don’t hate that.

I let him explore my mouth with his tongue, savoring the minty taste that always lingers on his breath. Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, my hand roams down his length, stroking until he lets out a low, visceral groan. My core throbs from the sound, and wetness slides down my thighs.

I track his movements, eyes never leaving his as he lowers himself to his knees.

A king, kneeling.

A captor, kneeling before his captive.

His shadows have swallowed the room, curling around us like a wall, leaving only the sconces glowing. It’s just enough light for me to see what he’s doing to me. And it. Is. Electrifying. My traitorous body is doing exactly what it wants, giving in to an attraction I’ve always felt around him, no matter how hard I’ve fought it.

“You hate me, Lyra?” he whispers the words as his mouth trails kisses up my thigh, closer to that spot… divine goddess, I’m going to die right here. His eyes never leave mine as he drags his tongue along my inner thighs, higher, tasting the evidence of what he’s doing to me. My core pulses with every touch, every deliberate drag of his tongue.

“Thorin—” I plead, but he draws back, eyes searching mine.

His knuckles trail slowly up my thigh, and goosebumps rise in their wake.

“You’re glowing for me, muya mivanti.”

I look down and notice he’s right—my magic has surfaced in response to his shadows and my emotions, my skin radiating a golden hue that his shadows gently slide around. He stands in a quick motion, pressing me against the stone wall.

“You. Are. Mine.” He crashes his mouth against mine, kissing me so deeply I taste myself on his tongue before he finally pulls away. His hands remain on my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks as though he has every right to touch me. I hate that I don’t shove him away.

His silver eyes search mine with shameless greed, drinking me in like I’ve already surrendered. Thorin is right—I am a liar. Because I know, eventually, I will surrender.

“Meet me in the Sacred Gardens tomorrow morning.” He eases back, leaving the space between us aching with his absence. A smug smile curves one corner of his mouth.

His words still hang in the air as the shadows around him pull inward, curling back into his skin like darkness being reclaimed by the night. For a moment, his eyes hold mine—that same searching look from before, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of my face. I want to look away, but I physically can’t.

Then the darkness swallows him whole.

I press a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow, and the desire burning through me to disappear. It doesn’t. I’m completely exposed in this nightgown, my cheeks burning, and I curse myself for every second I stood there and let him consume me. Then I turn and race back toward my chambers before anyone can witness the one thing I refuse to admit.

Thorin has gotten under my skin.

* * *

The Sacred Gardens look no kinder beneath morning light than they do beneath the gray wash of evening. If anything, the bleak stretch of day makes the ruin more obvious. The dead vines twisted around the marble arches show every crack in their brittle stems. The blackened trees look sharper against the sky, their branches reaching upward as if they're still begging for mercy from gods who stopped listening centuries ago.