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“Impassable for most. Not for me.”
“Because you can fly down the mountain? Or perhaps the gravity of your ego can bend the winter weather?” She balled up the letter in a fist.
“Because I am experienced and not a Founding socialite who didn’t know enough to bring a proper winter coat to the mountains!”
“For the last time, I am not a socialite. I am a historian!”
Their shouts reverberated in the room. They stood facing each other, only inches apart. Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed. and her chest heaved.
Once the shouts faded, there was the howl of the wind and a low thrum. Eventually, Draven realized he was growling.
“My apologies. I’m behaving badly—” Charlotte started.
“Don’t.” He pulled her to him, his hand on the back of her head and an arm around her waist. His lips covered hers in a crushing kiss.
She melted against him, opening herself and meeting his demands with enthusiasm. He pulled back. She panted, her heart pounding loud enough to drown out all other noise. There was only her. In his arms. Her pulse raced, fluttering under the delicate brown skin of her throat.
“Do not apologize to me for being yourself. Ever,” he commanded.
She blinked slowly, as if coming to her senses. “The night of our wedding, there was a creature in the corridor.”
“There was no—” he started, then stopped. Lies would only insult her. “The Aerie is not safe.”
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Draven’s Library
“I gather that,” she said.
He held her against him, her chest and soft belly pressed against his firm body. It was a lover’s embrace, but Charlotte only saw concern on his face. Shadows cast from the firelight flickered across his face. He had a refined profile, as handsome as anyone she had ever seen.
“Swear that you will keep your door locked. Do not roam the corridors at night. And cease your searching for my dungeons,” he said.
“If that wasn’t Miles, then who did I hear?”
“None of your concern. Do not go looking for answers. Swear to me that you will do this.” When she did not answer immediately, his grip tightened. “Swear to me!”
His lips curled back in a snarl, flashing fangs and rage, and Charlotte was suddenly very much aware that she was unable to escape his hold and he said he was hungry. She should be too terrified to speak. She had been in a position similar to this, with a frenzied beast threatening to tear her throat out. No one would blame her for fainting or crying or any reaction other than noticing how striking he looked wearing such a harsh expression with his hair a windswept tangle and rumpled clothing that had, no doubt, seen days of wear.
He was beautiful. Cold and remote, as lovely as the snowy mountains that surrounded his stronghold, and thoroughly inhuman. He was firm and demanding. Despite the fire, cold radiated off him. The scent of leather and snow clung to him. Just mere minutes ago, his lips had been pressed against hers, and she really wanted to repeat that. He overwhelmed her senses. His mood shifted in ways she failed to anticipate, but in that moment, when he held her tight and snarled his demands, she felt safe. Valued.
Worth protecting.
Charlotte pushed away, albeit reluctantly. He made it difficult to think clearly and he hadn’t answered her question.
“You won’t distract me with a kiss. Do you swear you’re not holding Miles captive?” she asked. Yes, yes, the letter. She was inclined to believe in its authenticity.
He growled, clearly irritated. That mood she could read without issue, yet she was not alarmed. Quite the opposite. Excitement fluttered in her chest and heat pooled within her recalling the way he had growled in her ear on their wedding night.
He had to be doing this on purpose to distract her.
“Please, I need to hear you say it.”
“I am not holding your friend captive. Now you. Cease trying to gain access to the dungeons.”
