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A haunted smile ghosted his lips. “She was.”
Was.
By the blasted moon, had her brainless poking and prodding just drudged up the memory of a lost loved one? And there she’d gone and practically forced him to explain the woman’s name on his skin as if Clara had any right to the truth of it?
Her hot shame got to work, as usual, painting her a greater shade of idiot, so she did her best to quickly rally and change the subject. “You mentioned your friend had other skills.”
Thankfully, blessedly, Bronze took the bait, or perhaps he was just as eager to change the subject as she was. “Yes. The reason Malik didn’t excel in that branch of intelligence was because of an old battle injury that compromised his short-term memory. But while that portion of his mind was damaged, another portion was altered in a different manner. Some of his other senses grew tenfold, to the point where he could sense shadows on the ground long after their owners had left the area. I never quite understood it. None of us did, really. Something to do with an increased sensitivity to thermal temperatures and the auras they left behind. I don’t know. Whatever it was, though, it meant that Malik could detect when a charmer had been nearby.”
“Quite useful for a spy legion to know, I imagine.”
“Quite.”
Clara waited for him to continue, but her focus dipped slightly when he swallowed and candlelight rode the wave of his neck, highlighting the dusting of rebellious auburn hairs he hadn’t managed to shave as close as the others.
“After one particular mission, Malik detected a league of charmers who had inched too close to the Empyrean’s gates. But the energy was a bit off, for some reason. Not quite as strong as if they were still in the vicinity but not so weak that they hadn’t been there very recently. Malik had trouble placing the timing of things, so when he finally got around to reporting his observations to Rhode, his memory of what he sensed was no longer reliable. Furious with himself and determined to correct his mistake, he returned to the scene outside the gates. But by then, the charmers were waiting for him.”
Bronze idly traced the swirl of his tattoo over his chest. “I found him shortly after. He was still alive but they’d, uh”—he cleared his throat—“they’d hacked off his wings so he couldn’t return and report back. We’d learned that when Cyro found out about Malik’s ability, the demon ruler had his mystics, the magic users, craft a way to mask their thermal presence. It worked.”
“That’s . . . that’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Clara grabbed his hand and held it to her chest, hoping to impart some sort of belated comfort for the memories she’d forced him to drag up.
Bronze followed the line of his arm, down his biceps, over the bend of his elbow, and up the ramp of his forearm where it ended in a warm bundle against her breasts. His stare was a heightened reminder of the male’s uncut measure, thrilling Clara to the point of confusion.
He’d never looked at her like that, and it was doing all sorts of funny things to her insides.
“Before he died, he made me promise to take care of Polina. In the Empyrean, oaths are sealed onto our skin as tattoos.”
“And what happened to her?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. In the days that followed Malik’s death, me and my brothers were called upon to enact the Sealing and close the gates of the Empyrean against Cyro’s advancing armies. The magic we used to complete the task cast us out of the realm. We’ve been here ever since.”
“You’ve never been able to return home?”
The slow shake of his head might as well have been an anvil on her chest. Did he feel it, too, then? The weight of expectation that might as well govern every moment of her life? She couldn’t take a step down a hallway or select an outfit without being reminded of the hands that scrubbed the stones beneath her feet or stitched up the seams of her blouse.
She had a responsibility to her people. In her father’s eyes, it was to mate and to breed. When she caught her people’s exhausted gazes, however, the responsibility felt like so much more and had nothing to do with who she invited into her bed.
Fleeing to the human lands and taking the steps to enact these silly games had been the only thing she could think of to live up to the weight of that responsibility.
But God, it had been so long, so long since she’d done anything for herself. Spontaneity had always been a flimsy fantasy, one reserved for those who had lighter hearts and less propensity for chaos staring down their future.
A future that threatened to be just as bleak as frigid river water should the games not go according to plan.
Without her realizing it, that familiar deep desperation had her clutching his hand tighter against her, and a sharp breath hissed into his lungs. But he didn’t pull his hand away. He just kept it there, relaxed and warm against her breasts, and when she loosened her fingers slightly to free him, he still didn’t remove his hand.
The sensation was altogether transfixing, as was the way his rigid pectorals rose and fell in a more labored fashion.
When on earth had the room gotten so small? Or his presence so big, so overwhelming?
So tempting.
Oh, yes. He was so very tempting. She could admit that now. Alone as they were, was it so bad that she wanted to be the object of his temptation as well?
By the Moon Mother, she was tired. So very tired of plotting and planning. And where had it gotten her? Dead nearly two times over, a father who was furious with her for poking holes in his reign, and an angel who?—
She didn’t remember doing it or how it happened, but somewhere between her last thought and her next breath, she’d moved Bronze’s hand higher, until the tips of his fingers settled within the shadowy curve between the tops of her breasts.
This male made her want so much more than she’d ever known she could have. Touches and tastes that, if nothing changed, she was liable to go an entire lifetime without ever experiencing fully.
