If it could have pounded, it would have been doing so now.
Envy gently withdrew her hands. “Will grow back soon enough.”
Horror washed over her features. “What? How?”
“Let’s just say I would have followed you to the vampire court sooner if I hadn’t run into a slight… issue.”
Camilla stared at him, seeming unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly, softly.
It made something primitive inside him sit up, snarl.
“I don’t recall you wielding a blade, pet. Do not apologize for someone else.”
“Let me rephrase.” Silver eyes glimmered with annoyance. “I’m sorry, but this will hurt terribly.”
Camilla smeared the salve down his front, her touch no longer gentle as she coated the wound, leaving no minute section untended.
He swore and jerked back, but the little hell beast moved with him, finishing the job with brutal efficiency.
“There.” Her tone was clipped as she twisted the cap back on the salve. “That should be sufficient. Blade’s note said to reapply if necessary.”
She slapped a bag of herbs to his still-healing chest.
“Add two generous pinches of this mixture to your bath and soak for twenty minutes. It won’t improve your attitude, but your wounds should heal nicely.”
Cursed saints above, he was hard as granite. Again.
She turned to leave, and he snatched her hand, drawing her close against him.
Her desire hit him harder than any blow he’d taken in the arena. It was the first powerful emotion he’d felt from her since they’d come to his circle.
“Allow me to properly thank you, Miss Antonius.”
Before she could offer him another smart comment, his mouth came down on hers.
FORTY-SEVEN
CAMILLA HAD JUST killed a man for less. But Envy’s brazen kiss… brought her back to life.
If she’d been trapped in a cocoon of ice, frozen from the horror of what she’d done, she’d broken free now. His fire ravished all the dark, cold places in her soul, warming her, making her feel everything. Protected. Safe. Alive. Passionate.
Strong hands touched everywhere: her hair, her throat, cupping her breasts, running over her hips and thighs, stroking each area like her body was his favorite canvas.
Her gasps were his paint, her lips his greatest inspiration.
He tasted and teased, nipped and owned. Never relinquishing her mouth for long, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance she never wanted to end.
The kiss was a battle, a plea, a path to salvation or their greatest destruction.
Their game had become intimate, each move he made provoking one of her own. When she teased him, he returned the favor until they were clawing at each other’s clothes, shedding them as quickly as they’d shed any notion of restraint.
Camilla didn’t care what it was. Masterpiece, chaos, it made no difference. It was pleasure: intoxicating and pure, and she drank it down, sip after decadent sip.
His callused skin was rough against her softness, the friction a wonderful, unexpected delight for the senses. Camilla had hated this scrap of a gown in the vampire court; now she relished how much skin it exposed, the access it granted him to stroke and caress.
She touched him back as freely, flattening her palms on his bare chest, marveling at how soft his skin was there despite the hard muscle underneath, despite how torn it had been only moments before.
The intricately crafted tattoos marking his arm and chest were just as beautiful as the hunter-green ink at his belt line; she traced them all, listening to the rasp of his breath as she moved lower, along the line of his trousers, slung so low on his hips it ought to be criminal.
Despite his injuries, he was already aroused, the thick length of him straining against his pants.
Camilla wanted to pull him free, offer him the same release he’d offered her.
She went to undo his trousers.
His arms, capable of slaying giants, were gentle when they came around her, drawing her closer, staying her movements.
What had started as hungry, greedy kisses slowed into something more tender, gentle but never shy. Their lips began to savor, to move as if—for once—they had all the time in the world to learn all about each other, explore.
It was languorous, drowsy. The sort of kiss that made knees weak and heartbeats strong. It took her a moment to appreciate the shift, enjoy the sweetness of it.
His tongue touched hers, heat pooling low in her belly from the lazy stroke, invoking memories of when he’d made that same movement between her thighs, kissing the apex of her body until her back had arched off the bed and heat bolted up her spine.
When his hands moved over her now, it was less about possession, less about feral need; it was a question that made her breath catch, an answer that threatened to undo her.
All the teasing, the private games, the allure of knowing they only had one night, and she’d wanted to make it last, draw it out for as long as possible. It had just been a fun game. A way to forget her loneliness for a while, a lighthearted way to pass the time.
What Envy was doing now, this move… it threatened her carefully constructed walls.
Camilla had thought she knew the rules of this private game, but now he was kissing her like she meant something. Like this wasn’t just about winning one night.
Like he might be playing to win something more.
And that awful realization, that he might in fact still be playing at all, made her face a truth she wasn’t ready for.
Camilla felt as if she were falling, plummeting from the heavens to the earth, and he was the star she clung to, their desire lighting the whole damn sky.
Or maybe they were a comet, destined to crash.
Camilla drew away, touching her swollen lips; they tingled, seeking the press of his.
Envy brushed her hair back, cupping her face between his hands as if she were precious, the most intriguing piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.
Those hands still had blood on them. But his violence didn’t frighten her.
She watched as his palm slid to her chest, feeling the beat of her heart instead of tracing her peaked breast, still aching with want.
The way Envy looked at her now was dangerous. So, brutally dangerous.
More than the dagger he’d wielded with ease, or the cold, efficient way he’d dispatched creatures twice his size. The sharp edge of his lust had been honed to a finer point by something… else, something that could strike with more precision, travel deeper until it pierced a vital part inside her. Whatever game this was… it could slip between her ribs faster than he would slip out from beneath her sheets after their one night together ended.
His gaze never wavered from hers, so she saw the moment when he realized what she had seen, before banishing it from his face. A flicker in a storm, there one moment and blown away the next. But Camilla had seen it for what it was, knew it would never last.
This would always be a game to him. And the tender move, the sweet kiss… this play knocked her wildly off-balance. Only to worry she was tumbling all by herself.