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“Then why is your hand on my throat, Zoei?”
“I find that I like it here.”
“This play for power is getting old,” she declared, trying to lie back on the pillows to avoid my grip.
“Is it?” In one swift move, I settled atop her, my knees and the tip of my sheathed sword digging into the mattress.
Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “I told you—I can’t do this.”
“I’m not asking.” The words emerged with more harshness than I’d intended. “I don’t need your permission.”
A telling quiver wracked the lithe body beneath me, and her scent thrummed the air with trepidation. Under the illumination of the twin moons, I watched her lips work as she tried to respond, and failed. A flush appeared on her cheek, blooming on the paleness of her skin.
I wassick, ridden with an illness that made me puff up with each visible sign of Olly’s fear. I reveled in her discomfort, blood singing in my veins.
It seemed like a fitting revenge. She made meache.I wanted to hear her whimper and cry out in fear as I pinned her to the mattress. I needed to feel her breath fizzing from her lungs as I pressed my weight into her.
The dark desires drew a low growl from my spirit Alpha.
Just as quickly as I’d climbed atop her, I wrenched myself free of my own perverse longings. The ledger fell on the bed where my knee had been, and I watched as Olympia attempted to collect herself enough to sit upright.
She ran her palms over her cheeks, trying in vain to soothe the redness there.
“Stop wasting my time and look through the guest list.”
She paused for a moment as though fighting the order in my words, but eventually shifted positions to accommodate the ledger on her lap.
She cracked it open with nimble fingers, swiping away errant locks of her hair as she did.
“Turn up the lamp, will you?”
I obliged, twisting the knob on the solar lamp until the room was suffused with light.
“And sit down,” she continued. “You’re making me anxious, hovering over me like that.”
You should be anxious,I thought, but didn’t say out loud.
Instead, I sat at the edge of the bed and leaned against the footboard, watching as Olly scoured the long list of names.
“Looks like you’ve done the grunt work already,” she commented. “There are at least a thousand names here.”
“Possible suspects marked in red,” I said.
“Thanks, I gathered that,” she remarked wryly, and I had a niggling feeling that she was fighting not to roll her eyes.
“Get to work,” I said brusquely, unsure of the slight smile that played on her lips.
Her fingers folded over the edges of the ledger as she glanced up, her eyes meeting mine with haunting intensity.
“What?” I queried, yet she didn’t speak. “Did you find something?”
She shook her head, a waterfall of red curls spilling down the front of her tunic. They had come undone from their braids, haphazard, uncontrolled andwild.
“Then what is it?” I said impatiently, uncomfortable with the way her stare lingered. I battled the incontrovertible desire to reach out and twirl a lock of her hair against my finger—the urge was especially difficult now that I knew its softness and scent.
Her feet moved in a restless manner, the heel of her shoe digging into the thick quilt.
“I can’t stop thinking about…”
