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“They’re staring because you’re different,” I insist.
“Different? They’re drawn to me for evolutionary reasons. Deep down, the men recognize what I am, an ancient predator who once snuck into their lands and stole their women.”
“And the females?”
He flashes me a lazy grin. “Oh, they simply want to sleep with me.”
I roll my eyes. “Not everyone wants to sleep with you.”
“No?” He turns his head, making eye contact with a pretty brunette walking two Yorkies. The brunette’s eyes light up, and she makes a beeline for us.
Lord help us all. I catch her eye, glaring until her perky smile fades and she storms in the other direction.
“That was cruel,” Valerian says, resting on his elbow, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“No, that was a mercy. Now stop trying to distract me and get ready for my inquisition.”
His eyes go dark and all liquidy and then he crawls over and lays his head in my lap.
His lips twitch mischievously as he stares at me, one hundred percent aware of how irresistible he is. “I’m ready now, Princess. But beware, this truth thing goes both ways.”
Valerian Sylverfrost, Prince of the Winter Court and possibly the most lethal Evermore I know, just crawled over and laid his head in my lap.
Whoa. A thrill of . . . something shivers down my spine. We could be two college lovers enjoying the park after work. The thought dredges a sharp pain in my chest as I realize how much I want that.
A normal, easy, human relationship defined by mundane things like the first time we meet each other’s families or share an apartment key.
That’s the opposite of what's happening here but . . . against my better judgement, I run my fingers through his dark blue hair, startled by its silkiness.
A puff of air escapes his lips at the contact, and then he closes his eyes.
“You smell divine,” he murmurs.
Dangerous territory, I remind myself, but I don’t remove my hand, and he doesn’t remove his head. Both of us testing how far we can take this new form of intimacy and still control ourselves.
“So,” I begin, carefully weighing my questions. We only get four apiece. “You hate hotdogs, you hated the gourmet mac ’n’ cheese we found at the flea market—”
“That vile yellow stuff?”
I tug on a strand of his hair. “No interrupting while I have the question leaf.”
“The what?” he demands, his eyes flashing open.
I grab a golden leaf and wave it over his eyes. “This. Just go with it.”
“Fine. You have the dead leaf, now please. Ask your question.”
“So, you hate our food, even the amazing stuff. What do you like?”
Relaxing, he closes his eyes again. “Are you asking what my favorite meal is?”
“Yes, I guess I am.” I can’t stop staring at the dark blue curtain of lashes resting against his ivory cheeks. The swell of his bowed lips, parted slightly.
“Every year in the Winter Court, we celebrated the ice maiden with a festival. There’s this treat called snow candy made from maple syrup. I rather like it.”
“Wait? That’s your favorite food? You won’t touch a taco or deep dish pizza but you’ll eat candy?”
He shrugs. “My father never let me have any, so I’d sneak away from the royal entourage and eat so many I was sick.”
