Page 135 of Revealing Fate

Kal smirked and tossed the blade into the corner of the room. Once more, he stepped away before returning. In his hands, a length of silvery cord shimmered in the low light. Silverskin?

“Hands.”

It was her turn to lift a brow. She wasn’t releasing her blanket. Kal knew full well what lay underneath, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of giving up that easily. Felíne snuck one hand out from the folds of her fabric shield.

He grinned wider and slipped the cord of silverskin around her wrist. He tugged, and Felíne gasped as the noose tightened, pulling her forward. It wasn’t painful; Kal hadn’t pulled hard enough to hurt her. Yet, an unexpected warmth spread through her at the sensation of cold metal—was silverskin metal?—nipping into her skin. A new thought popped into Felíne’s mind—one that involved her bound and at Kal’s mercy. Hadn’t she started as his unwilling victim? What might it be like to revisit that role within the new parameters of their association?

Kal tugged again, urging Felíne close. She was eye level with the bare skin of his chest. Her palm rested against the left side. She felt the heavy thudding of his heart beneath the skin, scars, muscle, and bone.

“Did you dream of being my captive?”

Last night’s dream, she reminded herself. Not the new one her imagination had just unhelpfully conjured. Felíne pushed against his chest, and Kal conceded a step. “Cold.”

Kal’s eyes narrowed.

Felíne offered her finest attempt at nonchalance. “Last question, Kalevar. Victory lies within my grasp.”

“Was I in your dream?”

Shit. Playtime was over. Felíne’s thin veil of confidence in an imaginary triumph had just been shredded to ribbons. She had no choice. She’d agreed to these terms. Foolishly. “Hot.”

Kal’s answering smile was pure, uninhibited sin. He stepped forward, and she stepped back. He advanced, and she retreated. Felíne’s back collided with the wall. Kal loomed above her. The scent of rainwater lingered on his skin, combining with woodsmoke from the hearth and his masculine spice to make Felíne’s head spin with potential impulsiveness. All it would take to tip her over the edge was that honeyed bourbon on his breath.

Kal slipped a single finger under the edge of the blanket at her neckline. The moment he made contact with her skin, Felíne’s entire abdomen clenched.

Oh, gods.

That wicked finger of his trailed a line of lightning over her collarbone, the blanket sliding away inch by torturous inch. He snagged the thin strip of fabric of her breastband. It, too, fell victim to his touch. Kal stopped only when an entire naked shoulder had been revealed.

His eyes, those gorgeous, gold-streaked, shadowy orbs, tracked every nuance of her expression.

“Was I touching you?” he asked, voice like smoke.

“You’re touching me now,” she replied, breathless.

“In your dream,” he clarified with the barest hint of amusement.

“I…” Felíne was struggling to maintain a grasp on her faculties. Each tendril of thought scattered like a puff of feathers cast into a sweeping gale. For divine’s sake, it was only a finger. “I can’t remember.”

“That won’t do,” Kal tsked. A second finger joined the first where it lingered on the curve of her shoulder. “I suppose I am forced to remind you.”

Kal lifted his other hand and slipped aside the pitiful layers of fabric until Felíne’s right shoulder matched the left. Both bare. She clutched the blanket to her chest, her last line of defense. Kal reached behind her head and pulled the pins from her hair. Rich, tangled waves fell. Kal spread them over her shoulders. The thick strands, still damp from the storm, settled over her hot skin like icy ribbons. She shivered.

Kal traced the line of her jaw, the column of her neck. “Any luck with that slippery memory of yours?”

Felíne’s thighs clenched. “Warm.”

“I think we can do better than warm.”

Without warning, Kal tugged the blanket out of her grasp. Air surged into Felíne’s lungs on a sharp inhale. He held the woolen fabric leisurely; her barricade collapsed, defenses overrun. Then, he dropped it.

The rush of cool air over Felíne’s skin was a shock to her senses. She stood before Kal in nothing more than scraps of ivory linen. The undergarments clung to her flesh, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She was more on display than she’d been in Madame’s with Imogen, wearing that horrifyingly sheer garment.

But this time, she wasn’t an accessory in the room with two other beautiful women. She wasn’t there to watch Sashara perform for a paying customer. This time, the undivided attention of the only person who mattered belonged to Felíne alone.

Kal’s eyes roved over her body. The column of his throat worked on a swallow, and his lips parted—the only indications that perhaps Felíne wasn’t the only one experiencing a nervous flutter.

But Kal wasn’t as easily distracted. His hands resumed their perusal like a cartographer with a whole map of uncharted flesh to explore. He ran his fingers along the length of her arms, stopping briefly at her fingertips before ascending once more. Her ribs shuddered when his touch feathered over her sides, the curves of her waist, the soft plane of her abdomen. His thumbs met in the middle of her stomach, long fingers splayed outward.