But a part of her hoped she’d not find herself alone this eve …
Hours waiting there in the dark. Butterflies batting at her insides. Wondering if he was all right. What he might look like when that scrawl of hate was torn from his face. Who he might be in the end.
Waiting for the knock on the door. Hour after hour.
“… are you sure about this …?”
“I’m sure.”
“… i wonder if—”
“I know what I’m doing.”
But sleep arrived before the boy did.
Mia woke somewhere in the nevernight’s dark, eyes fluttering open from a dreamless rest. How long had she slumbered? What time could it b— There it came again. A gentle sound that woke her butterflies.
Knock, knock.
She rolled out of bed, throwing a silken robe over her slip. Heart pounding against her ribs. Cold stone beneath bare feet. She reached the door, hands unsteady as she twisted the key and opened it a crack. And there she saw him, just a silhouette in the dark, saltlocks framing the hidden contours of his face.
Lips dry, she stepped aside without a word. He looked up and down the hallway, hovering at the threshold. For him to be caught outside his room after ninebells would mean torture at the weaver’s hands. But he knew what would happen if he entered. They both knew. A breath that seemed to last forever, watching him through her lashes. And at last, quiet as her sigh, he stepped inside.
She touched the arkemical lamp on her table, waiting for the heat of her hand to spark the light inside. It flickered, a warm sepia glow blooming in the glass. He was behind her, she could feel him. Feel his shadow. Feel his fear at being here. His hunger. And holding her breath, she turned and looked at his face.
A picture, just as she’d known he’d be. The ink was gone, the draketooth scars vanished, a smooth, flawless tan beneath. Cheeks more defined, the hollows around his eyes filled. The kind of handsome a girl might raise an army for, slay a god or daemon for. This girl, at least.
“The weaver knows her work,” Mia said.
Tric looked at his feet, avoiding her gaze. She smiled to see him abashed.
“How does it feel?”
“Not bad,” he shrugged. “I mean, it hurt like fire and iron, but after, not so bad.”
“Do you miss them? The marks?”
“She let me keep them.”
The boy motioned to a small glass phial on a leather thong around his throat. Mia saw it was filled with dark, gleaming liquid.
“Is that …?”
He nodded. “All that remains of my grandfather’s handiwork.”
Reaching out to touch it, Mia trailed one finger down his collar to the skin beneath. She saw the pulse at his neck quickening. Turned away to hide her smile.
“Drink?”
He nodded wordlessly. She busied herself with the clay cups, the bottle she’d lifted during one of her early forays in search of trinkets for Mouser’s list. Though the whiskey wasn’t worth any marks in the Shahiid’s contest, Mercurio had taught her to always swipe a good label when she saw it.
She poured two shots, offered Tric a cup. He clinked it against her own, knocked it back without pause. Mia poured another, one for herself. “Sit?”
The boy looked around the room, down at the stool tucked beneath her dresser.
“There’s only one chair,” he said.
Turning away, Mia slipped her robe slowly off her shoulders. Letting it fall in a crumpled heap on the floor as she crawled onto her bed, reveling in the feel of his eyes on her body. She placed the bottle on the nightstand, reclined among the pillows, legs stretched out before her, whiskey in hand. Waiting.
He walked toward the bed, feet soundless on the stone. Moving like a wolf, head lowered and breathing her in. Mia knew he must be able to smell her want. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Her mouth dry as the desert beyond the walls. She sipped the goldwine again, savoring the smoky burn down her throat. Tric sat on the mattress edge, unable to tear his eyes from her. Tension crackling between them, curling the edge of her lips. She could feel it thrumming in her fingertips. Pulsing beneath her skin. Desire. Her for him. Him for her. Nothing and no one between.
He knocked back his drink with a wince. She watched the light play on his lips as he swallowed, the deep troughs at his throat, the strong, flawless line of his jaw.
“Another?”
He nodded. Mute. She pushed herself up slowly, felt the strap of her slip fall off one shoulder. Sitting up cross-legged, the silk bunched around her hips. Filling with a dark delight as she saw his eyes run over her body, down to the shadow between her legs. She rose up on all fours, prowled across the furs, eyes locked on his. Reaching for the cup in his hand, fingertips circling the lip, onto his wrist. Up the smooth swell of his bare arm, watching his skin prickle, listening to his breath catch. Her face just inches from his.
She wasn’t sure who moved first. Her or him. Only that they came together with a crash, her eyes closed, her mouth finding his as if she’d always known the way. Warm skin and warmer lips. Strong hands and hard muscle. His fingers wrapped in her hair. Her nails clawing his skin. His mouth crushed to hers, tasting the whiskey on his tongue. She tugged off his shirt, fumbled with his belt. He clutched a handful of her slip, tore it from her body as if she’d never need it again.
She pushed him onto his back, lifted herself up on all fours, straddling his face. Wanting to taste him as he tasted her. His mouth left a burning trail up her inner thighs, hands roaming her naked skin and making her shiver. With a gasp, she managed to tug his britches down around his knees, felt his fingers parting her folds as she took him in her mouth. Groaning around his length, she felt his tongue flickering against her, whispering pleas, lost in the shadows above her head. His fingers, O, Daughters, his smooth, burning heat against her tongue. His mouth against her swollen bud, gasping as she pumped her fist, rolled her tongue around his crown, all the way down to his hilt. Needing more. Needing all.
Dragging herself up, she twisted in place, pushing him back down as he lunged after her, eyes bright with lust. Climbing atop him, she took him in her hand, near drunk with need. Stroking him hard as he groaned, pressing him against her. He lunged upward, taking her breast in his mouth, hands on her hips, urging her down. But she resisted for one more endless moment, freezing in place above him. Locking her gaze with his. An inch and forever away from the fall.
But finally, ever so slowly she sank down, down, looking deep into his eyes, pain and pleasure all entwined, breath strangled in her lungs, unable even to gasp. Goddess, he was so hard. Her head fell back, lashes fluttering, long tresses clutched in his fist as his tongue moved from one breast to another, as she rocked her hips, spine arched, nails clawing his back. Moving as one now, his teeth at her throat. Hissing. Pleading.
He slipped his hand between them, down between her legs. Working gently with his fingertips, rolling them in circles, the heat inside growing hotter and brighter and fiercer until there was only the flame, blinding behind her eyes as her every muscle clenched and she screamed silently into his hair. He crashed and burned inside her, his eyes growing wide and his whole body shaking as she rocked back and forth atop him. She looked into his eyes, knowing he stood right at the edge, begging her to let him fall. And in the split second before his end she pulled herself off him, finished him with her hand, gasping as he spurted across her belly and breasts, whispering her name.