Page 56 of The Temptation of Roan Island

Shemaiah spins, pressing me behind him, his arms caging me against the wall. He releases a growl, the protector, my protector. My insides melt with warmth. No one has ever protected me.

The scream bursts out into shrieks of laughter. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Zarah!” Kay screeches as she runs past, barely visible through the bushes, followed by the white blur of Zarah’s form. The happy smiles of the two women seem too light for the headiness of a new moon party. The sight of them, the reminder that we aren’t alone out here, dampens the lust that was overpowering me, making it easier to think, but it doesn’t change what I want. I came to this party determined to enjoy what time I have left. I don’t want this interruption to stop that.

Shemaiah releases a pent-up breath before turning around to face me, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. There’s something distant in his gaze now. None of the heat that was there a moment ago. He wipes his mouth, then mine before taking my face between his palms. “Are you alright? I’m sorry I got a little… carried away.”

You’re not the only one. Rather than say the thought, I nod, wishing I could see him better in the darkness. “I liked it,” I whisper.

His expression hardens. “Come. I’ll take you back.”

“I’m not ready to go back.” I run my palms up his chest, channeling a much flirtier woman. My nerves sing from that simple touch.

Shemaiah takes my wrists and pulls my hands away, stopping my exploration. “You need to sleep off the effects of the venom.”

Right. Because that’s all this is.

“You’ll have to fix my bustle,” I say, trying to keep the dejection out of my voice. “We smashed it.”

He walks behind me and attempts to reshape it. “I think it’s a lost cause. But I doubt anyone will notice. Not with the holes I tore in the fabric.”

He pokes his finger into a gaping hole in my skirt. The calloused touch drags along the skin just under the curve of my backside. I squirm and moan, twisting to look at where his finger hides in the fabric.

He pulls away with a sharp jerk that makes my heart plummet. It was silly to think I could live it up like the rich elites that come to a Roan party, that Shemaiah would want me. That it would be different here than New Caldon. I’ve had my fun. Now, it’s time to get back to reality where I’m a sick former-servant, and Shemaiah and I are nothing but casual friends. I need to regain some semblance of control. He was right to refuse my eager pleas. It was just the venom, the passion of the moment. Just the pull of the new moon on his Mavarri nature that made him respond.

He takes a quick step away. There’s an abrupt chill in the air that wasn’t there before. The noise from the party no longer seems exciting and inviting, but like the warning of a siren. My breath is heavy as we stand a few feet apart from each other. We nearly stepped off a cliff and only just managed to pull back in time to avoid a fall.

I take a deep, shaky breath.

He swoops down and picks up my gloves. I expect him to hand them to me, but he tucks them in his pocket.

“I’ll escort you to your room,” he says, not offering his arm. He follows me as I lead us out from behind the bushes. We don’t speak.

The party’s grown even more wanton, naked bodies entwining and twisting in the dark shadows made by the torchlight. My breath picks up, a hollow ache between my legs. Shemaiah’s posture stiffens, and his steps quicken.

When we reach the calm of the house, he takes a deep inhale as if he’s been holding his breath. In the light, I can see the black of his eyes, as black as the night we just left. A muscle in his jaw clenches.

“Are you feeling any better… after?” he asks when we make it to the stairs.

Am I? I don’t feel tired the way I did before the party. I don’t feel as winded. “A little better. I think.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “And you? Are you feeling less….”

His throat works, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I’m more in control now. Yes.”

At my door, we pause. In the light of my room, I find myself shy. He holds his jacket in front of him. The rest of his clothes are disheveled, and I wonder how much of that is my fault, yanking and pulling on him.

The desire to ask him to come in is nearly overpowering, but I know if I do, it won’t be a quiet night of reading. We may be more in control of ourselves after a modicum of satisfaction, but it’s still a new moon, and his venom still sings inside me.

He looks down at his shoes, his straight dark hair an open curtain around his face. “Are we… okay?”

I take a breath to say something, but words lodge in my throat unsaid, insecure about where we stand after everything that’s happened between us.

This is pretend, I remind myself. Shemaiah has never wanted anything more. Not trusting the words I might offer, I smile and nod.

Before I can second-guess myself, I lift on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper against his skin.

He tenses under my lips. I step back, but he grabs my chin to keep me from going too far. “It should be me thanking you, Pippa. Thank you for offering me your life’s blood.”

“Filled with illness.” I scoff, turning away from him to open the door to my room.