“I am.” My confidence in Xaden is almost…arrogance. Gods, he’s beautiful. The mage lights illuminating the chamber highlight every carved line of roped muscle on his chest and abs and play off the angles of his face. And when he turns, the hundred and seven scars that mark his back catch the light under Sgaeyl’s relic.
I stare. I can’t help it. His body is a work of art, honed to lethal perfection. I know every inch of it, and yet I’m still gawking, transfixed like it’s the first time I’ve seen him half-dressed. This should absolutely not be turning me on, but the way he moves, the lethal grace in each and every calculated strike…
Yep. Turned on.
Maybe it’s toxic as hell, but it’s pointless to deny that every single part of me is attracted to every facet of Xaden. And it’s not just his body. It’s… everything. Even the darkest parts of him, the parts I know are merciless, willing to annihilate anyone and everyone who stands between him and a goal, pull me in like a moth to a fucking flame.
My heart pounds like a drumbeat and my stupid chest aches just watching him maneuver around the floor of the pit, toying with his opponent. I’ve missed watching him in the gym, sparring with Garrick. I’ve missed being with him on the mat, feeling his body over mine as he puts me on my back over and over again. I’ve missed the tiny moments in my day when our eyes would meet in a crowded hallway, the bigger moments when I’ve had him all to myself.
I’m so damn in love with him that it hurts, and for the moment, I can’t remember why I’m denying myself.
The rider on my left shouts, and Xaden’s gaze jerks upward, colliding with mine.
Surprise registers on his features for all of a heartbeat before his opponent swings, his fist slamming into Xaden’s jaw with a sound that makes my stomach twist.
I gasp as Xaden’s head snaps sideways with the force of the blow.
He staggers backward to the cheers of the riders around me.
“Stop playing around and end it,” I say through our bond, using it for the first time since Resson.
“Always so violent.” He thumbs a drop of blood off the split in his lower lip, his gaze flashing to mine, and I swear I see a hint of a smile before he turns on Jarrett.
Jarrett swings once, then twice, missing Xaden both times.
Then Xaden strikes with two quick punches, putting his full weight behind them unlike before, and sending Jarrett to his hands and knees in the dirt. Jarrett’s head hangs as he shakes it slowly, blood dripping from his mouth.
“Damn,” the rider next to me says.
“Exactly.” Is it wrong to smirk? Because I can’t seem to control my facial muscles.
Xaden stands back as the riders fall silent in the chamber, and then he extends his hand.
Jarrett’s chest heaves for a tense minute before he looks up at Xaden and shoves away the offered hand. He taps the floor twice, and while some riders around me groan—and yes, that’s money changing hands in the form of gold coins—others clap a couple of times. Jarrett spits blood onto the floor, then stands upright, nodding at Xaden respectfully.
The match—if that’s what this can be called—is apparently over.
The riders head my way, filtering past me for the door.
Xaden says something to Jarrett that I can’t hear, then uses the metal rungs embedded into the stone’s masonry at the far end of the pit to climb out.
He reaches the top, then takes his shirt from where it’s draped across the railing and comes in my direction, watching me with enough heat in his gaze to set my already humming body on fire. Yeah, definitely can’t remember why I’m denying myself any part of this man.
“Looks like he won the pass,” the woman next to me says. “I’m Cornelia Sahalie, by the way.”
“Violet Sorrengail.” I know it’s rude, but I can’t make myself look away from Xaden as he turns the corner, approaching from the left.
He runs his tongue over the small cut at the side of his lower lip as if testing it, then tugs his shirt on. Taking away the show should cool my blood, but it doesn’t. Pretty sure dumping a bucket of snowy slush from the nearby peaks over my head couldn’t lessen the heat, either. I’d probably just steam.
Gods, I’m screwed when it comes to this man.
It doesn’t matter that he hurt me, didn’t trust me.
I don’t even know if I trust him.
But I want him.
“Good job, Riorson,” Lieutenant Sahalie says to Xaden. “I’ll tell the major to take you off the patrol roster for forty-eight hours.”
“Twenty-four,” he corrects her, his eyes on me. “I only need twenty-four hours. Jarrett can have the other twenty-four.”
Because I’ll be gone.
“Suit yourself.” She clamps Jarrett on the shoulder in consolation as he walks by, then follows him out.
We’re alone.
“You’re early,” Xaden says, but the look in his eyes is anything but condemnation.
I lift a brow and try to ignore the way my palms itch to touch him. “Is that a complaint?”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I just wasn’t expecting you until noon.”
“Turns out Tairn flies pretty damned fast when he’s not being held back by a riot.” Gods, why is it so hard to breathe suddenly? The air between us is thick, and my heart thrums as my gaze wanders to his mouth.
He’s killed people for me before, so why is him fighting for a weekend pass stripping every ounce of self-control straight out of my bloodstream?
“Violet.” Xaden’s voice drops to that low, quiet tone he only ever uses when we’re alone, and usually naked. Very naked.
“Hmmm?” Gods, I miss the feel of all his skin against all of mine.
“Tell me what’s spinning around that beautiful head of yours.” He moves closer, invading my space without touching me.
Fuck, I want him to touch me, even if it’s a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
“Does it hurt?” I lift my fingertip to the corner of my lip where his is split.
He shakes his head. “I’ve had worse. It’s what I get for blocking with my shields to concentrate on the fight. Otherwise, I would have felt you. Look at me.” He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilts my head back before searching my eyes. “What are you thinking? Because I can read a lot into the way you’re looking at me, but I’m going to need the words.”
I want him. How hard is that to say? My tongue ties. What would giving into this insatiable need for him mean?
That you’re human.
“I’m about three seconds away from carrying you up to my bedroom to continue this conversation.” His hand slides along my jaw, his thumb caressing my lower lip.
“Not your room.” I shake my head. “You. Me. Bed. Not a good idea at the moment.” Too tempting.
“As I remember—which I do, often—we don’t always need a bed.” His other hand palms my waist.
My thighs clench.
“Violet?”
I cannot kiss this man. I can’t. But would it really be the end of the world if I did? It’s not like it would be the first time. Shit. I’m going to break. Even if it’s only for this moment.
“Hypothetically, if I wanted you to kiss me but only kiss me—” I start.
His mouth is on mine before I finish.
Yes. This is exactly what I need. My lips part for him, and there’s no hesitation in the glide of his tongue against mine. He groans, and the sound reverberates through my very bones as I wrap my arms around his neck.
Home. Gods, he tastes like home.
I hear the door shut a second before my back is pressed against the rough wall of the chamber. Xaden slides his hands beneath my thighs, then lifts me so we’re level as he lays expert claim to every line and recess of my mouth like this is the only time he’ll get. Like kissing me is more vital than his next breath. Or maybe that’s the way I’m kissing him back. Whatever. I don’t care who is kissing whom as long as we don’t stop.
I lock my ankles at the small of his back, bringing our bodies flush, and my breath catches at the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his uniform and my leathers, and suddenly it’s too much and not enough.