Page 78 of Demon of the Dead


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Mattias stood with his shoulders pressed back against the wall by the door.

Náli snapped to immediate attention, shock tightening all his limbs. “Shit,” he muttered.

Mattias did not slouch, as a general rule. He stood tall and square-shouldered, always alert, always ready, even when his face was etched with fatigue. As a small boy, Náli had thought him invincible; he still thought that, sometimes.

So it was his posture, in this moment, that struck Náli so sharply. The boot propped back against the wall; the casual arch of his spine; the almost artful way he allowed himself to be held up, rather than standing on his own, all traces of his usually rigid, disciplined stance given over to a pose wholly human.

How seldom he’d revealed that human side of himself. The part of him that thirsted, and hungered, and stewed in his own melancholy juices. The part of him that wanted things he couldn’t have – or thought he shouldn’t have. That was who stood across from Náli now: not Mattias the captain of the Dead Guard, but Mattias the man. Náli had no idea what to say to keep him from reverting to the former.

His gaze, dark and heated as two coals snatched from the fire, pinned Náli in place and set his pulse to hammering.

“I think,” Náli said in a tone of forced lightness, “that our very own Klemens has designs on one of my potential brides.”

Mattias lifted one shoulder in an out-of-character lazy shrug. “She’s comely enough.”

Why did that sting to hear? She was comely. Lovely, even. If that was to a man’s taste.

“And just this morning,” Mattias continued, his voice low, deep, rough-edged, “you said you didn’t care who we fucked.”

Fucked. Náli couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken that crudely. He’d always been mannerly to a fault.

The sound of that word, in that voice, coming from Mattias, put a not unpleasurable knot in Náli’s stomach. It brought to mind what he’d seen through the gap in the door last night, only minus Einrih, and with him and Mattias on the bed. The thought of hot, sweat-slick skin, and a fevered mouth against his own…

He realized he was clutching at the blankets and loosened his hands with effort. “I did say that.” He wanted his voice to be confident, smooth and inviting, but it came out airless instead. “And I meant it. For them.

“But I am very much invested in who you fuck.”

It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought one of Mattias’s brows quirked. There was no imagining, however, the subtle shift of his hips as he adjusted his boot against the wall. The movement drew Náli’s gaze straightaway. An intentional tease? A quiet torture? He’d never been cruel like that.

But nothing was as it had been, once.

His voice was still rough velvet, but his words fell over Náli like a bucket of cold water. “If she’s your favorite then you should offer for her now. It will save the effort and expense of the ball, and keep Klemens from sampling her charms before you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“It’s not as rigid as it is in the South; no one demands that a bride come to the marriage bed a virgin. But as someone who’s seen Klemens’ cock, I think you’d best move quickly before she has a reference for comparison.”

“Stop.”

Mattias pushed off the wall and turned toward the door.

“Stop,” Náli snapped. “That’s an order from your lord, Mattias. Don’t you dare walk through that door.”

Mattias paused. Through the fitted cut of his tunic, Náli could see the tension in his spine. Watched the tail of his braid quiver as he drew a deep breath. His head turned a fraction, just far enough for Náli to glimpse the edge of his pained expression.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, formally. “I spoke out of turn and without proper respect.”

“Damn respect,” Náli said.

“I didn’t mean to impugn the Lady Brigida’s honor. Nor suggest that Klemens would behave dishonorably.”

Náli wanted to strangle him. The voice of command he’d used before gave way to an unsteady breath, and a tremble in his lungs. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t… “Matti,” he said, and his voice cracked.

Mattias turned, and Náli wished he could enjoy watching in real-time as all his resolve crumbled to dust in the face of Náli’s childhood nickname for him. Wished he could feel some sense of victory, or even relief, as Mattias charged across the room and caught his face in his hands.

His gaze tracked over Náli’s face, unchecked hunger bright in his eyes, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks. “Gods,” he breathed, a starving man with no idea where to start, too accustomed to resisting temptation.

It should have been flattering – it was – but Náli was too hungry himself to bask in the admiration.

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