Page 39 of Nightshade

“Then I will shut them for you.”

His lips pressed hard to hers, and while every sensible fiber of her being sought to push him away, a much greater resistance pulled her forward. She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. As much as she wanted to push him off and feel the impact of her fist against his bones, the taste of his lips against her own proved to be a much more potent distraction. No boy had ever kissed her before. And when he finally pulled away from her, a dizziness swept over her.

She opened her eyes to the intensity of winter blue, like an ice storm, staring down at her. The cold that washed over her settled beneath the heat of his gaze, and the world around her muted, like the times when she lay in the river with her ears just below the surface, looking up at the bright blue sky above.

“I despise you,” she whispered, but the words were a lie.

“And I you,” the young baron countered, not having removed himself from her prone body. Not having moved, nor torn his gaze from hers. His eyes remained riveted on her lips, and he licked his own, as if imagining the kiss all over again. Then, all at once, he broke from his spell and reached down inside the pocket holding the bird. Lustina could feel its struggle as he lifted it from inside.

She reached out to stop him, but his eyes held a warning that told her, if she fought him, she would surely regret it. “Promise me you won’t hurt it.” When he didn’t answer immediately, she tightened her hold of his wrist, ignoring how he snarled back at her. “Promise me, My Lord.”

“I make no promises. Particularly to eager girls so willing to be taken before an audience.”

“Perhaps so. But whether I am eager, as you say, or not, I ask you kindly to show the bird mercy.”

“And I am under no obligation to you. So I say, forget about the bird. It is no longer your concern.”

“I cannot forget, when it is my nature to be concerned for things which are broken.” There was meaning beyond the bird, beyond things. She had grown curious of the baron, had thought about him since her last visit a week prior. Had dwelled a number of nights on words he’d spoken in their last encounter, about Bishop Venable and her mother. In that time, she had come to realize the young baron hadn’t been out to torment her, as she had initially thought. It hadn’t been his intent to wound her heart, so much as prod the truth past stubborn lips that’d long sealed.

One didn’t require the powers of mindreading to know the baron felt animosity toward Bishop Venable, which Lustina suspected may have been due to his mother. She longed to know what truths lay sealed behind those enigmatic eyes, as well.

The ferocity in them seemed to soften only a moment before their hard and unyielding edges darkened once more. “If it is broken things you fancy, then perhaps you should turn your attention unto yourself,” he spat and cradled the injured bird as he pushed to his feet.

Drystan stepped toward him and lowered his gaze. “My Lord, if you would like, I can take the bird--”

“No.” The baron kept his eyes on Lustina as he backed himself away. “And if you fight me again, girl, there will be consequences.”

* * *

Fingertips pressed to her lip, Lustina lay on her cot, staring up at the cracked ceiling of her small, unimpressive room. She hadn’t wanted to eat, nor drink, for fear of losing the taste that lingered like the warm liquor her mother would brush over her lips when she was ill. It tingled and burned every time she imagined the boy pressed hard against her, breathing through his nose, muscles tense with fury. Of course, she’d have preferred her very first kiss to be sweet and under entirely different circumstances, but what she’d felt in those moments was no less intense, or passionate, assuming she had any understanding of passion, at all.

She wasn’t entirely ignorant when it came to such things, though.

Her mother had often regaled her with stories of princes falling in love with princesses, and warriors with maidens. She had always expressed the importance of passion over everything else, and how it could mean the difference between a cold and bland kiss, and one that left a blazing fire in its path. Her own story of having been swept away from her home to the foreign lands of Praecepsia had started out on a romantic note, before she’d been abandoned with child. Even if she’d faced a number of hardships as a result of their short-lived affair, Lustina’s mother had never spoken ill of her father. She’d always recalled him with a fondness that told Lustina she’d still been very much in love with him.

Her mother had also been very open to questions that Lustina would have about lying with a man and the mysteries of her own body.

She may have lacked the experience, but Lustina certainly understood the mechanisms behind attraction.

Which was silly where the baron was concerned, because she certainly wasn’t attracted to him. He didn’t carry himself as some boys did, like Drystan, with his gentlemanly mannerisms and warm empathetic eyes. Ones that oftentimes looked at her as more of a poor and pitiful consequence of her gender.

No, the baron treated her much differently. He didn’t reign in his words for the sake of her feelings, and he certainly didn’t gentle himself around her, simply because she was female. If anything, he treated her more as an equal.

His equal.

Which any good and sensible lady would absolutely abhor in a man.

And yet, she didn’t. She didn’t hate the way he spoke to her or handled her. The way he looked at her or challenged her. She certainly didn’t hate the way he’d kissed her earlier that afternoon.

In fact, if she were being perfectly honest with herself, she really didn’t hate the baron, at all.

14

Farryn

I lie on a bed of soft feathers, the scent of rosewater clinging to my skin from the bath I took earlier. The cold is unbearable, and I toss and turn, desperate for sleep. A strong, calloused hand smooths across my hip, drawing me backward. Possessively. The deliciously masculine musk is thick on the air, and his lips hunt the back of my neck. The warmth of him settles over me like a cozy fire. He is familiar to me, though I don’t know why.

Deft fingers caress my body, as if he’s done it a million times before. Not a word spoken between us. A tickle of my arms draws my attention to where soft black wings envelope me like a cocoon, closing out the light.