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I glance at the door, wondering how late Unach will be. Wondering how I’ll be able to mask myself if she walks in right now. Becoming a legal servant was a bad idea. I wonder if such a thing can be revoked.
I feel closed in again, so I push past Azmar toward the fireplace, sinking onto one of the giant cushions. I rub an ache from my temples. “I won’t, Azmar. Not for curiosity, not for science, not for anything.”
He follows me, surprisingly silent on his feet, until he towers over me, like some ancient sentinel, and I ... I am a mere human. “Even if I hurt you?”
The question startles me. “You would never hurt me, Azmar. Your promise aside, I know you. I’m not afraid of you.”
He considers this for a minute. The fire cracks behind me. I reach over and turn the meat.
Azmar sits beside me, making the cushion dip with his weight. “I’ve petitioned for my own quarters,” he says. “Unach won’t like it, because it will require her to downsize as well, or share with someone else.”
I stiffen. My heart beats too hard, catching on barbs in my ribs. “I see.” With Azmar out of Unach’s space, I’ll never see him. On occasionI’ll pass him in the corridors, or on the lift, or when Unach needs something delivered to him. It will be easier for him to forget me. Easier for me to forget him, too, I suppose, but the hurt blossoms like a poisonous flower, regardless.
“I would appreciate if you didn’t mention it to her until after Housing approves the request,” he adds. “Best to minimize her reaction, as much as possible.”
I rise. I should work on the vest. I need something else to think about.
Azmar grasps my wrist. His grip is like a stone left by the fire, pleasantly warm at first, but more and more scorching the longer he holds on.
“Lark,” he murmurs.
I twist from his fingers. “My name is Calia.”
He doesn’t respond. I dare to meet his eyes. They’re unsure.
So I repeat, “My real name is Calia Thellele. My nursemaid called me Lark. I didn’t want to be found after I left my father’s house, so I changed my name.”
I’ve had more names than those two, but they don’t bear repeating.
Azmar’s gaze is an iron manacle holding me in place. “Which do you prefer?”
I swallow. I want nothing to do with that sad, scared little girl, and the sad, scary life she left behind. “Lark.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t confirm the name in any way. He’s about my height, sitting on the overstuffed cushion, with me standing. A little shorter. Staring at him, being close to him, is awful and agonizing. His presence is hotter and brighter than the fire at my back. I want to fall into him and be burned.
But I am nothing if not a survivor.
I turn away. Take half a step. Fight with my warring mind. But I’ve already thrown myself at him once. What more damage could I do? If he’s leaving Montra housing, I might not get another chance.
“I know what I am, and what you are.” My voice is quiet, my throat too tight, so I force myself to turn back. The fire feels too hot now. “I haven’t told a soul about you, and I won’t speak of it again after this. But I need to hear it fromyourmouth, Azmar. I need you to remind me that I’m human, that I’m repulsive and below you, that the only thing you feel for me is pity.” His stare is too intense, so I lift my focus to his brow. “Just tell me that I’m a fool. That I’m in the way. Just tell me, and I’ll leave you be. I’ll change my shifts so our paths never cross. I’ll even leave Cagmar, if that’s what you—”
His calloused hand finds mine again, but this time he tugs me toward him. My words jumble on my tongue as his other hand touches my hair. I barely process that I’m falling before he kisses me. Not a meager brush of the lips, but a true kiss, and something inside me shatters and is rebuilt again.
His lips are warm and soft, thicker than mine. One of his short tusks glides across my cheek. My pulse roars in my ears.Wrong, wrong, wrong.
But Azmar’s hand clutches my hair, his other encircling my waist to pull me closer, and it sings,Right, right, right.The flames seem to leap from the fireplace and ignite every inch of me, and the complicated plait of my thoughts loosens and disintegrates, until there is nothing in my head but the ashes of him.
Our mouths learn one another slowly, measurably. It’s tantalizing, invigorating. I cup his strong jaw in my hands. He turns his head and coaxes my lips to part. I give in eagerly, and the heat of him flows through me, over my tongue and down my throat, feeding that secret space deep within. And then I am on his lap, tracing his mouth with my tongue, crazed on the scents of white cedarwood and ginger. His fingers map the length of my spine, each pad a smoldering ember against my skin. It makes me feel so fragile, and yet so strong at the same time. Our breaths mix together, dancing. I lean into him, desperate to be closer to him, relishing the feeling of his hard body against mine. Our tonguesintertwine, and he makes a low sound in his throat that is as delicious as it is addicting.
The kiss slows, gradual and reluctant, until our lips break apart and I can feel blood swelling in mine. I search Azmar’s eyes, his pupils so large and dark there’s barely any topaz left in them. I’m sitting on him, the cushion bulging against either side of my thighs. There would be no easy explanation for this, should Unach walk in.
My heartbeats thrum too swiftly to count. I search Azmar’s face. “Your fault this time,” I whisper.
He runs a hand behind my ear and over my braid. “Perhaps do not tell Unach about this, either.”
A sudden shyness overtakes me. Leaning back, I pull my legs to myself so I’m no longer straddling but sitting modestly beside him. Trying not to think of the telltale sign of desire I’d felt, which is definitely the same with trollis as it is with humans. I murmur, “What would she do?”
“She would not take it well.” He wipes a hand down his face. “None of them would.”
