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He sat up, watching her pull them on, thinking of her only hours before. The way she arched against his hand, his mouth. The soft sounds she made when he did something she liked.
His body tightened with desire.
Gideon had been exceptionally thorough tonight. He could therefore say, without a doubt, that Rune Winters had no casting scars anywhere on her body.
He could also say, without a doubt, that he wanted to do what they’d done again.
And again.
And again.
His chest knotted. This feeling she stirred in him—not desire, but something deeper—scared him a little. It felt like a tethering. Like he’d given her a piece of himself tonight, maybe long before tonight, and in doing so, handed her power over him.
The last time he’d done that with someone …
Gideon smothered the thought.
“Had your fill of me?” he asked while she gathered the rest of her clothes.
Rune froze like a mouse sighted by a hawk.
“What? No, I …” Her voice sounded strange. Unsteady.
Gideon moved to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing,” she said, hugging the bundle of leathers. Gideon lit the lamp on the bedside table and got out of bed. “It’s just that I should go home. The servants will worry.”
But Gideon knew that Rune regularly attended the parties of other aristocrats. Parties that often ended at dawn. The servants of Wintersea House would be used to their mistress coming home at all hours of the night.
In the lamplight, he saw the shine of tears in her eyes.
Standing now, Gideon stayed where he was, wondering if he’d caused this. Had he misunderstood, somehow? Maybe she’d wanted none of it.
“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Tell me what it is.”
She bit down on her lip.
Gideon wanted to close the gap between them, take her face in his hands, and tell her he’d protect her. But he held himself still.
“You,” she whispered. “I’m afraid ofyou.”
His heart sank like a stone.
“Me?”
She backed up a step. “The way you make me feel is …” She hugged the bundle of clothes tighter. “I’m afraid it’s something I could get used to. Something I couldneed.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me, Gideon.” And then, much more quietly: “Maybe you already are.”
She seemed to truly believe this—that he had some strange power to crush her.
Did she think he was using her?
Aren’t I using her?he thought, remembering his conversation with Harrow.
Hadn’t he brought her into his bed to prove she wasn’t a witch?
No,he thought. That was merely his justification for taking what he wanted and not caring if it hurt his brother.
The sudden thought of it—of what he’d done with the girl Alex loved—felt like a punch.
