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Gently, I roved my hand along the curve of his shoulder, to the side of his neck. His fingers came to a still on the tagelharpa. My hand climbed, lost in the warmth of his skin, the rough stubble on his jaw.
With a sigh, he tilted his head into my palm as I touched his face, the curve of his ear. I wasn’t bold, I’d never really craved anyone. Had I wondered about the moans and sighs coming from other tenement rooms? Often. Had Stefan stumbled into our flat more than once with his hair disheveled and bite marks on his neck? Constantly.
I’d balked at the near maddening desire that always lived in the eyes of my royals. The sort of passion and need that drove them to violence to protect their lover was confusing at times.
This burning was new and foreign and frightening. Part of me wanted to dig my claws into Silas’s skin so he might never be rid of me. Another piece wanted his larger, stronger body to cover mine; I wanted him to devour me. Then, the final piece wanted to run, scream, and sever whatever this connection was before it could take hold any more.
I dragged my fingernails up the shaved side of his head, touching each tattooed rune mark, then wrapped the longer strands of his hair around my knuckles.
I forgot myself, forgot the need to be wary, and let my brow drop to the back of his head. “Why did you stay hidden from me?”
“It was not by choice.” He stiffened. “You are my thoughts that rise with the sun, and my fears that come with the night.”
“Your fears?”
“Fear that I will wake and you will once more be gone.”
“I don’t understand.” My hands dropped to his shoulders and I shook my head, still pressed against his. “If you missed Stef—Annon—then, he knew of you.”
“It was not as though he wanted to keep secrets. We did not . . . interact. We . . . couldn’t.”
“Why?” Silas looked away and frustration gathered like a stone in my chest. “Gods, what harm would come from telling me the truth?”
“Why did none of the fated crowns know their truths, Little Rose?”
I considered the question, and despised the answer. “So they would find their true destiny through sheer grit and stubbornness.”
A low chuckle rolled from his throat. “I suppose. They had to find their paths. It was part of the story. They had to fight, struggle, they had to cleave to their new power for it to grow as strong as it was always meant to be, or it would be easily taken again.”
“So, that’s what this is? My fight. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t have the time.” I opened my arm, gesturing to the window. “Don’t tell me this moon means nothing. I saw him.”
“Yes.”
“Then we cannot stay holed away in here.” I straightened my shoulders. Thoughts of Sol, Tor, and little Alek ran in my head. Thoughts of Cuyler and his men. Even the odd resentment of Olaf. No more running. “There are those who must be warned of what I saw.”
“I cannot watch you take the risk.”
My lips parted. “Cannot? Or will not?”
Silas sighed. Gently, he set the instrument aside and turned around on the bench. Hells, he was . . . haunted and beautiful. The way shadows painted contours in the world as the sun sets, secrets lived in the curves of his face, behind the mask he wore, in the shades of his dark eyes.
“These walls are safe,” he said briskly. “This is where you’ll stay.”
Silas rose from the bench, and without a backward glance, he left the room.
Stunned, I opened and closed my mouth more than once before freeing a frustrated shriek that echoed through the corridors.
This was worse than being a captive at Castle Ravenspire, since I wanted to slaughter those guards, but with him I still wanted to reach out and pull him close every time my damn captor showed his masked face.
In his presence, my heart would sing.
In his absence, I thought only of how to get free of him.
Chapter12
The Phantom
Where had it gone wrong?I’d kept my promises, done what was asked, and I’d waited. I’d done it, all while the heat of a heart’s song burned brighter and brighter.
