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Khalstorm handed Celeste a glass of auburn liquor before sucking back the contents of his own with an audible swallow. She liberally sipped the rich liquor, letting it chase away the lingering chill in her bones, though the temperature in the rented room—on the other end of town—was reasonably warm and she was fresh from a steamy shower and dressed in a complimentary white robe.
She’d curled up on the plush couch, quietly watching Khalstorm pace. Every now and again he’d glance her way and then resume pacing, thoughts clearly in turmoil. He’d showered as well, his hair still damp, and was dressed in only his pants, his feet and chest bare. Shamelessly she drank in the sight of his muscled chest and arms, replaying their kiss in her mind over and over. His stab wounds had already stopped bleeding, in the process of healing, though they still looked red and painful. He had a cut on his lip and a swollen cheek that were healing as well.
He returned to the minibar and poured himself another drink, downing it just as quickly as the first.
It seemed his nerves were just as frayed as hers. Because of the fight with Lockheed? Or because of the soul-shattering kiss? The heat of it still swirled in her head.
All the massively complicated feelings from their past relationship—and their current…whatever it was—had been balled up and smashed into that kiss. That electrifying, dizzying, wonderful,confusingkiss.
She didn’t understand it. All this time he’d been bent on dragging a confession from her. When she finally obliged, never mind the validity, he kisses her like that? Had it simply been adrenaline-induced? Had he merely been grateful for her aid?
But he’d kissed her with such passion.
She’d sensed an urgency and desperation from him that still hadn’t waned. It wafted from him in heaping waves. She wanted to inquire about his thoughts but decided to remain quiet, sipping her drink. She didn’t yet understand her own mind, her emotions grinding.
Did that kiss mean things had changed between them? She couldn’t see how. Not when she’d finally given him the confession he’d been so after—false as it was. And yet . . . the passion, the emotion that had been poured into that kiss. . .? How could itnothave changed things between them?
As his smoldering lips had glided over her, she’d been transported to a time when they’d kissed freely. No animosity between them. No resentment and fear and mistrust. Her heart had fluttered the way it used to, and in that moment, nothing else had existed but the two of them.
She craved more. More of his unforgiving lips. More of his carnal touch. She imagined folding herself in his arms and bathing in the passion of his strong body. Rendering him powerless to her desires with her own.
But there was a dark pit in her gut that made her wonder if that white-hot kiss had just been an impulsive reaction on his part. How hard had Lockheed hit him? Had he been rendered momentarily delusional?
She had to concede it was possible.
Only moments before, he’d been brimming with anger over the fact that she’d returned to the clearing. Fresh from the fight, his eyes had been wild with violent fury, his muscles still straining from the savage battle.
She had risked her life and freedom to save him tonight. A small part of her recognized how stupid that was considering he’d abducted her with the intention of taking revenge on her.
But given another chance, she knew with one hundred percent certainty she would have made the same choice. If she had even the slightest bit of power, even the tiniest bit of hope, she would always be there for him. Because although he might believe the worst ofher, she could never believe the worst of him. And if she were being truthful with herself, the love she’d felt for him had never gone away. It hadn’t even dissipated. It had only burrowed deep into her heart waiting to blaze anew.
And yet, she had no idea what to do with this shocking revelation.Where do we go from here?
She watched him cut a path in the carpet as he quietly paced and drank. Was he grappling with feelings for her? She believed he had loved her once. Could her being in danger have revived some of those feelings, even if only briefly?
He was working something through his brain, that was for sure.
But what? She couldn’t tell.
If he did regret kissing her, perhaps he was deciding how to proceed with her, figuring out how to take this new awkwardness between them and brush it aside so he could get on with his vengeance.
The fact that she had saved his life . . . yet again . . . had to be weighing on his conscience.
Dragons were often honor bound to repay such an act, but would he shrug it off and punish her anyway? Again, she wondered what he might have in store for her. Would she regret not escaping when she’d had the chance? She began to worry that her own sense of self-preservation was utterly defective.
In an attempt to save him from those brutes, she’d taken the blame for Lizbet’s tragic death, hoping to defuse the situation, but had not spared thought for the consequences until after the fact. Was there any hope of convincing him otherwise now? The logical part of her brain said no. He’d gotten her confession and would cling to it like scripture.
Finally, he set his drink down and glanced at her over his shoulder, expression inscrutable. Then he crossed the room to loom over her.
She swallowed and gazed up at him under her lashes. “Look, Khalstorm—” she started, but then froze at the unexpected emotion swirling behind his eyes. “Khalstorm?” she questioned.
He knelt down and reached into his pocket to retrieve—
Her heart stuttered.
—the key to her cuffs.
As she gaped, he gently tugged her right arm forward and slipped the key into the lock at her wrist.
