Page 37 of House Ignis

Asher was watching me, a slow, wicked smirk tugging at his mouth. He knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

I looked away instantly, my cheeks burning. Get it together, Ava.

"Are you all right, darling?" His voice brushed my ear, low and velvet-smooth. The word darling slid straight down my spine, nearly making me combust.

His breath was warm, his presence crowding every sense. And gods help me, he could smell it—the shift in my scent, the traitorous signal my body had given before my mind could stop it.

I prayed to every god that Jeremy was far, far away.

Because Asher's mouth was too close, his tone too certain, and the heat pooling in my blood far too obvious.

Get out. Now.

The bell rang. Thank the fucking stars.

I shot to my feet so fast my chair shrieked across the stone, drawing half the hall's attention.

"Damn, Pyreson," Ryven called with a grin. "That excited for combat class?"

"Yes. Let's go," I squeaked—the pitch far too high—and grabbed Ember's arm like a lifeline, dragging her from the table.

We bolted toward the training grounds, our boots pounding the stone path as boundlings scattered in startled bursts of wings and flame.

I didn't look back, but I could still feel his silver-eyed gaze burning into my skin, trailing me like a shadow.

"Gods, Ava," Ember panted, nearly tripping behind me. "What in the blazing hells has gotten into you?"

I crashed through the archway and slammed our door shut, my cheeks hot enough to ignite the curtains.

"That male is doing something to me," I hissed, flinging open my wardrobe. "Unlocking some primal shit. I can barely function."

"Another embarrassment," Aether muttered through the bond, leaping onto the bed with regal disdain.

Ember dissolved into unrestrained cackling.

"This isn't funny," I groaned, stripping off the uniform with the grace of a startled squirrel and swapping it for my blessedly less-revealing combat leathers.

"Oh, it's hilarious," Ember said, still laughing as she changed. "You're in a full fae heat spiral over a male you've spoken—what, three sentences to?"

I spun on her, scandalized. "Ember. I'm betrothed."

"To a male who, let's be honest, barely knows how to work your buttons," she shot back, tugging on her boots, "let alone give you an orgasm."

"Ember!"

She shrugged. "What? I'm right. Maybe your sweet little fae flower is finally figuring out what it wants."

I stared at her, horrified.

"And what it wants," she added, wiggling her eyebrows, "is a male like Asher Maddox to properly water it."

"Gods," I groaned. "I am so fucked."

"Not yet," she said with a wicked wink.

Damn it, Ryven. Of course he had to be charming and inclusive. What a caring bastard.