Perhaps bringing him here had been a mistake.
Her gaze trailed over him: the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, the shadow of soon-to-be stubble darkening his cheeks. He was so much bigger than her. If he wanted to, he could easily lift her from this seat and carry her to the bed.
Rune froze.
Where had that thought come from?
She reached for the cup of wine, a little shaky, no longer caring about the spell it carried—she was already enchanted—and took another sip, careful to conceal the bottom with her cupped hands. She needed to calm her nerves. Their eyes locked over the lip of the cup, and Rune slowly lowered the wine into her lap.
As if knowing the effect he had on her, Gideon leaned in. Again, he lingered. Touching his temple to hers, running the backs of his fingers tenderly up her arm. Her skin blazed in his wake. His touch was stronger than the drink, pulling her under.
How is he so good at this?
Rune closed her eyes, trying to stay in control. “How much time do you have?”
“My next shift starts at dawn.”
His witch-hunting shift, she told herself. Emphasis on the witch-hunting.
When his thumb stroked the line of her jaw, Rune had to bite down on a whimper. It was almost as if he were a weapon specifically designed to compromise her.
“Hunting anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” His breath was hot on her neck.
“Who?”
He paused. “Why do you want to know?”
Rune swallowed. Was that suspicion in his voice, or flirtation?
Danger, danger, said her brain.
“What do you do with them, when you—”
Taking her chin gently in his fingers, Gideon turned her face toward his. His eyes were intense, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“Rune,” he said, pupils dilating. He looked hungry suddenly. Like a man who hadn’t eaten in years. “Less talking.”
He’s going to kiss me, she realized.
And the scariest thing was, Rune wanted him to. More than she wanted information, more than she wanted to rescue Seraphine … in this moment, she wanted to know how his mouth would feel against hers. If it would be soft or rough. If it would be as tender as his fingers, or if he’d give in to that ravenous hunger, taking his fill of her.
It shocked her out of her stupor.
Rune was no longer the mimic spider, luring her victim into a trap. She was inside her own trap … about to be devoured by her prey.
Desperate to extricate herself, Rune remembered the cup still in her hands.
Before Gideon completely overwhelmed her, she dumped her wine down the front of his suit.
TWELVE
RUNE
GIDEON SHOT LIKE LIGHTNING from the sofa. On his feet, he stumbled away from Rune, staring down at the dark stain seeping through his rare and expensive jacket.
Guilt pricked her like a pin.
“Oh, Gideon! I’m so sorry …” Rising from the love seat, Rune grabbed the wool shawl hanging off the back of her dresser chair. She felt shaky. Light-headed. “Clumsy me. Let me clean you up …”
He backed away from her, arms raised. “It’s fine. Please—don’t ruin your shawl.” He unbuttoned the jacket, shrugged it off, and held it out to inspect the damage.
“I’ll call for Lizbeth. Maybe if she soaks it—”
“What is going on here?” a voice exclaimed from the doorway.
Rune spun to find Verity entering the room, pearls gleaming from her neck and wrists. She looked windblown and out of breath, as if she’d heard Rune’s startled cry and, expecting the worst, ran to her bedroom.
At the sight of Gideon, Verity abruptly halted, staring like she’d caught them in the middle of something scandalous. Her heart-shaped mouth formed a shocked O.
“This appears to be my cue to leave,” said Gideon. Folding his soggy jacket over one arm, he caught Rune’s eye. “I’ll see myself out, Miss Winters. Good night.”
Before she could answer, he trod past a still-gaping Verity and disappeared into the hall.
When he was out of earshot, Verity hissed, “Are you out of your mind?”
She’d gone dark as a thundercloud.
“That”—Verity’s index finger sliced the air in the direction Gideon had gone—“was not the plan. Gideon Sharpe is not on your list!”
Rune crept to the door and peered out, watching the Blood Guard captain’s form recede down the hall. She was warm all over, her body humming with the memory of their close encounter. When Gideon was good and truly gone, she said, “That’s because he’s never shown interest.”
Verity went quiet. “Has he shown interest?”
Rune’s skin buzzed where Gideon had reached for her chin. She could still hear the hunger in him as he murmured her name.
Maybe?
Either that, or he was a cold, calculating master of seduction.
“I don’t know.” Rune closed the door and turned to her friend. “But he showed up tonight and gave me this.” She tugged the silk rose from her hair, wincing as several strands came with it, and held it out for Verity to see. “Suddenly, none of the names on your list were good enough. I had to improvise.”
Verity’s mouth thinned to a hard line. She took the flower as if it were a living rose, full of thorns. “Something’s amiss here,” she said. “Gideon Sharpe doesn’t court girls like Rune Winters.”
Ouch.
For some reason, that stung.
“Gee, thanks, Verity.”
Verity glanced up. “Oh, Rune. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Rune brushed off the comment. “Maybe he needs a rich wife. Maybe he gambles too much and is neck-deep in debt.”
“Or maybe he’s playing you,” said Verity.
Rune looked away, thinking of the enchanted wine, of the way his tracing hands knew exactly how to disarm her. He was experienced in a way Rune wasn’t. That had been clear.
Verity’s right. I’m in way over my head.
Gideon had turned the tables on her tonight. First, with the wine. Then, on the love seat. And finally, by refusing to give up Blood Guard secrets despite passionate distraction. None of her tricks had worked on him. Courting him, therefore, would mean enduring a high level of danger, but for how much reward?
Sighing, Rune walked over to the bed and fell backward, letting the duvet catch her in its downy softness. Closing her tired eyes, she said, “It seemed like the perfect opportunity.”
“It’s too much of a risk.” Verity sat down on the bed and took Rune’s hand, gripping it tight. Quietly, she said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
Rune heard what her friend didn’t say: I lost my sisters. You’re all I have left.
It was true for them both. Rune and Verity had lost the people who mattered most and only had each other now. And Alex.
The bed’s promise of blissful tranquility called to Rune. She’d ridden hard through terrible weather to get to Seraphine. Every bone in her body ached for rest. The longer she lay here, the more likely it was to drag her under.
“Promise me you’ll reject him and choose someone safer,” said Verity.
Rune knew she should heed her friend’s wise advice. It only made sense to pursue someone easier and less dangerous than Gideon Shape. But if Gideon already suspected her, wasn’t courting him the best way to put those suspicions to rest?
“Reject who?” interrupted a new voice.
Rune’s eyes flew open. She raised herself to her elbows, groaning a little at the fight against gravity, and saw Alex enter the room.
“Your brother.” Verity’s hand was still clenched around the rose’s wire stem. She held it out to him. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Rune.”
Alex took the rose.
Sighing, Verity pushed herself from the bed. “I’ll see you both back at the party.”
If I can make it that far, thought Rune, falling into the covers once more.
Alex stared after Verity. “What’s with her?”
Rune made an inarticulate noise, too tired to explain.
Claiming the spot Verity had vacated, Alex lay down beside her. Even with several inches between them, Rune felt the warmth of his body. Together, they lay on their backs, staring at the stucco ceiling.