Page 123 of A Thief Among Fae

Desmond pulls me to my feet, but neither of us lets go. The warmth of his grip radiates into my fingers as we gaze at each other, waiting, but for what, I don’t know.

“Are you ready?” he asks me.

I nod, surprised that for once, I have no retort. “Should we start with the bridge or the boulder?”

“The boulder.” He lets go, and I already mourn the loss of his touch.

Desmond appraises the hulking rock, running a finger down its flawless surface. “This used to be a door to the Hollowlands, likely before the war. Now, it’s as inert as any other boulder.” At my apprehensive squint, he kicks it, just to demonstrate.

I kick it too, perhaps to show it some submission, and regret it as the hardness reverberates through my foot. “Shit!”

Desmond laughs. “Let’s start with your eyes closed.”

“Closed? At this point, shouldn’t I be looking at what I’m moving?”

“There’s no telling how much light we’ll have in the tomb.”

“That’s not reassuring.” I square my feet and concentrate on the boulder. “Maybe you should’ve hired someone who can create light.”

He shakes his head. “The fewer involved with this mission, the better. Now breathe. Close your eyes.”

The sun’s rays are a faint caress on my chilled skin. The landscape is harsh, free of the trees I’m used to that would shield us from this breeze. Strands that have slipped free of my braid whip against my face, and I tuck them behind my ear.

Desmond looms over my shoulder. “Do you need me to close them for you?” Before I retort, he lays his hand over my eyes.

I shift in surprise, my back bumping against his torso. “I can cover my own eyes.”

“Apparently not, or you would’ve done it already. Do you feel the weight of the boulder?”

The pulse-quickening tension I feel from his touch is like the feeling I get when I set foot into a barrow’s foyer. Anticipation. Exhilaration. All caused by the allure of danger.

“Give me a moment.” My lashes flutter against his fingers. I have to focus. My Gift reaches out and finds the boulder. I encircle it with magic, prodding it, testing it, then lift it. I count to three minutes and grit my teeth as I slowly descend it to the ground.

“Good,” he murmurs, so close to my ear that his breath tickles my skin. The praise makes me shudder. “But your body is tense. You can’t harness your Gift until you learn to trust it.”

My heart trips over its own pulse. Of course I’m tense. I’m only a shift away from my ass rubbing against his hips. “It’s not my Gift I don’t trust,” I blurt to banish the thought.

Even after we’ve fought together time and time again, I still hesitate to trust him. Feeling an unbidden attraction doesn’t change that. He’s hiding something. Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s hiding multiple things.

“Hmm.” Desmond’s thumb absently slides across my forehead, warm and rough in a way that feels too damned good for such a subtle touch. “Are you afraid of me, Cynthia?”

“No,” I gasp out. I swallow, processing a startling realization. “You’re afraid of me.”

He pulls away, and I blink at the sudden light. He meets my gaze with his cold, impenetrable mask. He wears it less often now, but he’s far from leaving it behind us.

“And why is that?” he sharply asks.

“I know next to nothing about you, Desmond. You like reading. You’d rather be a scholar than the High Court’s prince, but your duty to your people outweighs your own wishes. Yet, I still don’t know what you want from Olin’s tomb. I don’t know why everyone fears you. You resist telling me what your Gift is, and I haven’t asked anyone else out of courtesy. Why withhold it if you’re not scared of trusting me?”

He steps in front of me, still just as close. “You may not like what you learn.” His emotions batter me—hesitation, and there it is—fear.

I lift my head to meet his gaze. “Try me.”

A beat of silence passes. The wind whistles around us, crows cawing in the distance. I don’t break our locked gazes, unwilling to shatter the fragile spell between us.

“Three questions,” he whispers. “Ask whatever you want.”

“It goes both ways, doesn’t it? The vow.” My heart squeezes. I want him to answer truthfully so badly that my hope is painful. “That’s why I feel your emotions, and you feel mine.”