Page 59 of A Thief Among Fae

Then a mirthful laugh startles me. It’s as light as sunshine, as carefree as summer rain. It’s the kind of laugh that’s only possible when you trust someone implicitly. There is no way it was Desmond’s. Yet with humor making his voice breathy and weightless, he adds, “I was asking how she’s faring without her favorite captain.”

A pause passes.

“Even if you could court her, you know that her affections lie elsewhere,” Desmond says, the humor gone. “Moving on is the only closure you will ever get.”

Who could he be talking to? It must be someone he knows intimately, because he never has that warm tone with me. For them to also know Deitra, it has to be another fae. Finnian? If not him, then who? I don’t know who the favorite captain could be, either.

Another pause, this one longer.

As I emerge between the trees to look at him, the forest falls silent.

And there’s no one there.

“Maybe I am crazy,” I mutter.

“Looking for someone?”

I flinch. Desmond chuckles as I whirl around to face him. “You’re lucky I’m unarmed,” I hiss. “I don’t like being snuck up on.”

Desmond strides toward me until he’s so close that his hazel eyes burn through the darkness. Moonlight brushes the bridge of his nose, trails down his sharp jawline, and pools in the gleaming white scar on his chin.

Then he shoves me, one hand clamping my shoulder and the other gripping my hip as he slams my back against a tree. My heartbeat quickens to a relentless pound. I reach for my knives, and my breath hitches as I feel the empty sheaths.

My blood runs cold. I forgot them in the clearing.

“Never,” Desmond whispers into my ear, “be caught unarmed.”

My pulse rages as I release a shaky breath. He could’ve stabbed me, or glamoured me, or stolen my mouth with his, and I would’ve been powerless to stop him.

The bark behind me grates against my back, rough like the calluses on his palms. I glare up at him, but my stomach drops as I realize just how close we are.

Swathed in the velvet dark of the forest, his touch feels too intimate, tantalizingly forbidden. I shouldn’t stare at his full lips, drawn to the way they’re curled in vehement warning. I shouldn’t remember the water trickling down his bare chest, nor feel a writhe of jealousy as I remember Auri tugging him into her room.

Yet I’m the one with him here, not her. I dare to let my gaze roam the tight stretch of his tunic across his chest, to his hands splayed possessively on me. “Who were you talking to?”

Desmond’s grip on my shoulder tightens. Wisps of heady, primal hunger whisper across our bond. A dangerous lurch in my core answers it, making my thighs clench and my breath catch. His nails dig into my hip, and I gasp at the little flutter of pain.

“That’s not for you to know,” he says, his expression calm. “It’s not wise to eavesdrop on others. Especially not the Prince of Death.”

I lift my chin, my heart thundering with the knowledge that I should be afraid of him.

But I’m not.

His eyes darken. His face tilts toward mine, and a soft curl brushes against my forehead. “Have you learned your lesson?” he murmurs so softly that I shiver.

“Clearly,” I retort, but my voice is ragged, almost a moan.

Desmond stiffens, as though he hadn’t expected that.

His reaction douses me like a cold bucket of water. Embarrassment stabs me, deep and ruthless. It snaps me out of whatever trance I was in, and I shove him away.

He lets me.

The ease of it makes me realize he never restrained my hands. The whole time, I could’ve gotten away from him.

I put several steps between us. It doesn’t feel like enough.

Desmond’s chest rises with a breath.