Page 45 of Veil of Night & Flames

As he takes one step toward me, the lamplight catches the planes of his face and the hard set of his jaw. “Tell me you want to be here.”

“Of course I want⁠—”

He holds up a hand. “Tell me you’re not just here because I lost a friend.” There’s an edge to his voice when he adds, “I’m not interested in cold comfort.”

“What the hell?” I go park myself right in front of him, undoubtedly telegraphing some serious annoyance. “Are you nuts? Of course, I’m here because I want to be here.” I take his hand, relieved when he gently squeezes mine. “I love you,” I say, then rise on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“And him?”

I don’t pretend to misunderstand. I also don’t want to answer. But I can’t stay silent any more than I can lie.

“Fine,” I say sharply. “We really have to rehash this again? You know the answer, dammit. I don’t love him, but I am attracted to him. And like it or not, he’s now very much part of my life.”

What I don’t say is that I think I could love Adric. But that wasn’t what Chase asked, and I don’t see a need to volunteer information.

Besides, every time I think about loving him, I remember that night with the executions, and I hate myself a little for wanting him so much. But that is definitely not something I’m sharing with Chase.

“Dammit, Cora. He’s in your head.” As I watch, the muscle in his cheek tightens, and I want to bang my head against a wall. I mean, yes, I get why he’s jealous. But it is seriously freaking annoying.

I take a breath and tell myself to put on his proverbial shoes. “Listen, okay? I love you. That’s true, and it’s not changing, and you know that. But I’m not going to tell you I don’t feel things for him, too—you know I do. But tonight, in this apartment, I’m here because I want you. Just you. Don’t make me say it ten different ways.”

A moment passes. Then another.

Finally, he uncrosses his arms, then takes a step toward me. Then another that puts him right in front of me. But he doesn’t kiss me, even though I’m silently begging him to do just that. Instead, he reaches out with his thumb and traces the line of my cheekbone as his eyes search mine with such intensity that it literally steals my breath.

“Tonight,” he says. “Just us. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” I whisper, and the word is still hanging in the air between us when he pulls me to him and kisses me, hard and deep and claiming. As if with this single connection, he can erase Adric from my mind and soften all the rough edges that have been between us.

And from the way his kiss is making me melt, I think maybe that’s all true. Right now, there’s only Chase. Only me. And a wild heat burning between us and fueled by need. As if his body has to prove what our words just promised. That I’m his. That tonight, there’s only us.

As his mouth works magic inside me, his fingers fist in my hair, and he tips my head back so he can deepen the kiss, even as his other hand slides under my shirt—his palm flat against the small of my back. He releases my hair, then uses both hands to tug the shirt over my head, breaking the kiss and taking the opportunity to spin me around.

He pulls me close, his cock hard against my back as he slides his hand down into my jeans, then under the band of my boring cotton panties until he finds my core. I shudder from nothing more than the soft brush of his fingertip against my clit before he thrusts that finger and more inside me, my body clenching around him as he murmurs, “You’re so wet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” I beg. “Please. I want you inside me.”

His hands slide up to cup my breasts through my bra. Then he spins me around again, this time to face him. One hand slides under the cup to tease my nipple in a way that sends sparks shooting through me as his other hand flips open the button on my jeans, then tugs down the zipper, and I make a soft whimpering sound that’s half pleasure and half plea.

I barely notice as we move across the room until the back of my legs hit the open sofa-bed and we go down together.

He’s above me. His weight on my hips. His fingers teasing under my bra. “Off.”

The word is firm and hard. An order, and I lift up enough to let him unfasten the back and then tug it off.

Next, he takes his shirt off in one fluid motion, and I sigh as his body is revealed, so perfect and familiar. The lamplight is low and gold, and his arms are covered in those intricate black-ink tattoos—symbols and creatures twining across muscle, darker in some places than others, almost alive in the low light.

He starts to tug my jeans off, and I squirm, helping him along. He tosses my jeans and panties off the bed, then stands to strip off his own pants as I watch this very delicious show, only to fight a small whimper when I see the wolf-scar, still new, but perfectly healed thanks to Adric’s blood.

Without thinking, I sit up, then reach out to touch it, and he draws in a tight breath.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “Does it still hurt? It looks like the bite was years ago.”

“It hurts,” he says. “But not in the way you think.”