Page 48 of Veil of Blood and Bone

His hair falls thick and tousled over his face like sunlit wheat with a hint of red. His eyes, ice-blue with a wild glint, see everything and take me in from head to foot. Today his fair tone is flushed and weather worn, his cheeks ruddy, the locks a lighter shade of gold.

Big. So big. A mountain of a man.

He probably didn’t turn into a raven.

Broad-shouldered and solid, carved from myth, true Viking energy with a quiet stillness beneath. When he sat across the table from us last night, he’d been a glacier with a heartbeat, dangerous when he moved.

Now there is nothing still about him.

He vibrates with strength and silence as he closes the distance between us. His name freezes in my throat when he pushes me onto the bookshelf.

The wood nudges my spine, the scent of wax and vellum and cleaner pungent in the air, and then it all melts away. His hands land on my hips, dragging me against him, before his mouth claims mine.

I push both palms to his chest on instinct. “You can’t come in here and—” The inch I gained disappears under the cage of his body.

He glides a hand up my ribcage, across the underside of my breast, and overhead, gripping the shelf. The harsh demand of his lips threatens to burn me alive. The heat rolling off his skin is natural, right, perfect.

“I needed to feel you.”

He steps into me and my breathing goes panic attack fast. Forest kisses me into silence with the pressure of his mouth, hot and needy, his tongue begging for entry. He squeezes my waist before reaching up to grip my face in his hand.

Damn me.

I melt into him.

This isn’t the kind of kiss you fight. It’s not the type you catalog and try to put into a box to understand. This is the kiss of someone who wants all of me and is determined to have it.

Anything and everything is his for the taking.

My heart pounds at my chest, and I break away from the embrace for much needed air.

Forest refuses to accept the space. “Helene.”

I’ve suddenly become the most important person in the room, and when his tongue grazes mine, a lightness takes over my soul. How odd, how fascinating, how right to be there in his arms.

“Tell me to leave.” There's a challenge in his tone as he presses me into the shelf, rasping into something feral. “Tell me.”

His body dominates, and the look in his eyes promises the same. A growl pushes out of him as he peers down at me.

I arch my brows and loop my arms around his neck to drag his head down.

The curve of his muscles underneath his shirt, underneath the strange cape he’s still wearing, flex beneath my searching hand. I pause at the leather straps over his shoulder then lose my composure when he drops a hand to cup my breast.

He arches his hips against me and the distinctive span of cold steel digs into my flank.

I pull my lips free from his, my mind spiraling, his index finger and thumb circling my nipple until it hardens further.

“Why are you walking around with a belt of knives?” Is that my voice?

The breathy, hoarse moan? It can’t be me.

Forest chuckles and circles his pelvis. It takes the pressure of the dagger off my side but drags another delicious length across my front.

“The better to protect you with, Helene.” His cadence scrapes his throat and pulls my name up from somewhere deep inside of him. “Although you don’t need protection.”

“Maybe I do.”

Not from him. Or maybe I do there as well because anyone could walk into the shop and see us here. The narrow aisles and the towering shelves, the old books and odds and ends only offer so much security. Barnes could be back from his errands any minute.