Page 117 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

“After that,” Thyra says, “Stellen sang me a coat from Alak-Teahan web. And after that, slowly but surely, I stopped feeling cold. Every morning, I woke up warmer than I’d been the day before.”

My brow furrows. For me, every morning I would regain consciousness after another night consumed by her blade visions, the pain in my heart worse and worse each day.

“Heat doesn’t have to destroy me,” she says. “Heat can save me.”

With every word she’s spoken, she has moved closer to me, and now she closes the final distance, her right arm outstretched, her palm approaching my heart, but she doesn’t touch me, bending her hand at the wrist so that her hand stops mere inches from my skin.

With every beat of my heart, I battle the pull toward her. The need to know what it would feel like for her body to press against mine. Fully. All of her. As if this could really happen.

Very slowly, she arcs her arm down to her side so she can step forward until her chest is close to mine.

Heat waves beat around me and her cheeks begin to glow, but uncannily, not a drop of sweat appears on her bare skin despite her flush.

Her armor ripples softly, the threads sliding back and up, leaving only the barest covering across her breasts and pelvis.

“I need you,” she whispers.

I sway toward her before I mentally shout at myself to stop.

Fucking stop.

With ragged breaths, I rasp, “You’re inviting death, Thyra.”

“Am I, though?” As slowly as she lowered her right arm, she raises it again, this time reaching for my forearm, her fingertips so near to me that she’s heartbeats away from making contact.

Despite every sane thought in my head telling me to step away from her, I choose…fucking choose…to stay where I am.

To let her act while I hold my breath and try to calm my thumping heart.

Convincing myself that she’s reaching for me with her blade arm and that means she can’t be harmed. Ignoring the fucking reality that I could destroy the rest of her.

She leans forward, a controlled movement, her head tipping back and feet arching to bring her lips closer to mine.

The intoxicating scent of white roses fills my head, dulling my senses, thrashing my rational thoughts into submission, and then⁠—

Her fingertips brush my arm.

The contact makes my world spin. My thoughts turn to chaos, a mess of hope and need as she runs her fingertip ever so slowly along the tensely ridged muscle of my forearm toward my hand.

Her touch consumes me. Gentle. Firm. Exhilarating. Comforting. Intensifying while a roar grows in my mind. A single wish: don’t burn.

Her fingertips brush the inside of my wrist, and then the base of my thumb, and then her palm slides against mine, pressing insistently as she laces her fingers with mine.

My jaw is clenched so tight, I’m certain my teeth are going to crack, tension keeping me frozen as I drown in her calm breaths and the assurance in her eyes.

“You won’t hurt me,” she whispers, the strength of her grip on my hand increasing as she arches upward again, not so slowly this time, her lips stopping a breath away from pressing to my chin.

Then more slowly, a controlled ascent that brings her lips toward mine, where she pauses, completely still.

I sense the nearness of her chest as she inhales. “Ash and fury.”

Another stream of silver threads rises up and back, lifting off her body and slipping to the shawl floating in the air behind her. Possibly the final strands covering her body.

Possibly leaving her naked.

A challenge enters her voice, her whisper tingling across my lips. “What would you do if your fire wasn’t stopping you.”

“Kiss you,” I rasp without hesitation and then, unable to control the heady upward tug of my lips, I say, “Everywhere.”