My body moves against the accusation on instinct, hips pushing her harder against the wall. Her silly wings quake. My eyes flash like a wild animal’s. “I’m nothing like Berolt.”
She retaliates by shoving me with her full strength, and I grant her some space, taking a step back, pacing like a caged animal. She shoves me again in the chest with both hands, and then again, until my back smacks into the hallway’s opposite wall.
I let her pin me, needing to see this thing through. And damn if it doesn’t feel good to have her hands on me, even in hatred. “Tell me why you’ve been so cruel, Basten. I want the truth.”
It’s intoxicating, the beautiful flush of her anger. I could bathe in her hatred all night.
“I told you—”
She slaps me across the face. The sting of pain does something to me. The violence at her hand shoots straight to my groin. I close my eyes, fighting the urge to act on the adrenaline slamming through my veins.
I murmur, “Do it again.”
She pauses, but only for a second. She slaps me again, even harder this time. I groan in demented pleasure and lick some moisture into my lips. “That’s good. Again.”
But she doesn’t. I can feel anger sparking in her hand, wanting to lash out again, but not if I like it. Then, something shifts in her energy. Or maybe in mine. Her arm pulls back to slap me again, but I catch it this time, trapping her by the wrist and dragging her into the cage of my arms.
Our lips come together like warring armies, our passions crashing violently, hatred and love all mixed up, and it feels like stars colliding, like beautiful devastation. This is wreckage, but I’ll die happily here. As my hands lock to her narrow waist, my lips can’t drink her in fast enough. I want to consume her, to take everything from her. Her hands rest on my brass shoulder plates, trying to pull me closer. My little violet is so small compared to me. Even on tiptoe, I have to stoop to kiss her.
And it’s not enough.
It will never be fucking enough.
I grab her ass and hoist her into my arms. Her beautiful legs wrap around my hips, her dress’s saucy slits easily allowing the movement. My fingers squeeze handfuls of her soft flesh like sinking into a feather mattress after months on the road. My groin pulses. Now that my body has made up its mind between fighting and fucking, every drop of blood rushes to my cock.
“Basten.” My name sounds so good on her breathy voice. “I hate you.”
Her hips roll against mine, telling a different story. Whatever she has to tell herself is fine with me, as long as it keeps her lips on mine.
“I know, little violet. I know.”
Supporting her with one hand, I use the other to tilt back her head to slip my tongue between her parted jaw. I taste her, lapping her up. When her tongue lashes back at mine, I think I’m going to die. The urge to touch her everywhere drills into me.
Her damn wings . . .
My damn armor . . .
I have to get it off. I tug roughly on my metal collar to loosen the leather straps, but then freeze as I pick up on footsteps and wine-slurred voices around the corner.
“Did you hear that?” someone says.
“Hear what? You’ve had too much wormwood,” the other responds.
“Shh,” I hiss into Sabine’s ear. “People are coming.”
I smash my hand against her mouth, silencing her moans. Her hot breath dampens my palm. Her tight little body is like an unruly cat in my arms, refusing to stay still and silent. Fuck—she’s going to get us caught.
I shift her in my arms, wanting to tear my armor off so I can feel her closer.
I rest my forehead on hers, my hand still pressed to her lips.
The blacksmith’s hammer of her heart reverberates. Time stretches painfully as we remain unmoving, coupled against the wall, trying to be silent. It’s dark here, but anyone would recognize the Winged Lady’s costume and a sentinel’s armor.
Whoever the approaching people are, they turn off in the opposite direction down the northern hallway, and a sigh rolls out of me.
Sabine mumbles something against my hand, but I shake my head slowly.
“Shh, little violet. We can’t be caught.”
She wiggles her hips insistently, and I swear the damn wildcat is as aroused by the possibility of being caught as she is afraid of it.
My groin tightens again, demanding I find a private place to fuck her senseless or risk combusting.
“Don’t make a sound,” I warn. “You’re coming with me.”
Chapter 31
Sabine
With one hand still clamped over my mouth, Wolf slips a small key into an unassuming door I hadn’t noticed in the shadows. It’s a servants’ door like the one in my bedroom, though this one is plain oak since it can’t blend in with the stone walls. He pulls me into a faintly lit passageway and eases the door shut, just as we hear more voices pass mere paces from where we’d been.
Once the voices fade, and silence surrounds us, he finally removes his hand.
“Rian will notice I’m gone,” I say whisper-soft, my heart knocking. “He’ll be looking for me at the party. If he catches us together . . . ”
“Leave it to me, little violet. I’ll hear if anyone comes.” His broad palm cups my cheek like a golden chalice as he leans close enough to ghost a kiss against my lips. “Just try not to scream my name too loudly when I fuck you.”
His lips claim mine greedily in a kiss before he takes my hand, interlocking our fingers, and leads me down the passageway.
Dear gods. My heart flutters like a bird lured into a trap, sensing danger but moving in anyway. What am I doing? Have I lost my mind? Basten betrayed me. He slept with a whore. I shouldn’t be here with him! But when I look at him, my resolve flits away into nothingness. Longing and need rush up to fill the void.
I hate him . . . I hate him . . . I hate him.
I also want him so painfully I’m about to shatter into pieces.
The servants’ passageway is narrow, lit by brass lamps every twenty paces, which means we’re continually plunging in and out of shadows. The walls are simple wood paneling with a muted green rug underfoot, meant to silence servants’ footsteps.
“What if a servant comes?” I say breathlessly.
“We’re alone. I’d smell someone if they were close. Everyone is in the ballroom to help with your party.”
I’m missing my own engagement party. My fiance waits by my empty chair at the high lord’s table. Well, so what? I never asked for any of it. Rian’s been pulling my strings across half of Astagnon, and it’s only fair I sever them.
Basten knows these passages by heart, which makes me wonder how often he uses them. Is he a servant? Expected to keep out of sight with muffled footsteps, so as not to disturb the Valveres? Or does he walk the primary halls freely as Rian’s friend? I can’t figure out where he falls between the servants and the family themselves—and I’m not sure he knows, either.
He leads me down a narrow passage. Then up two flights of steep stairs. There are so many turns my head spins. I’ve completely lost my sense of direction by the time he stops to unlock another door. When he eases it open, the smell of botanical perfume greets me.