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When I stay silent, he rises and heads to his kitchen, where he pours me a mug of tea from a kettle that was sitting on the warm rock from dinner. Passing it to me, I take it in my hands. It’s barely warm, the residual heat just enough to seep flavor from the leaves, but still a welcome sensation. I drink from it greedily.
“I’m sorry,” I begin after a few gulps of tea. “It was not my intention to make you feel bad.” He pulls a chair beside me and sits, shaking his head. He still doesn’t speak, holding space for me to process as I see fit. “I just… I can’t give up control. Ever. Not again.” I cannot bring myself to meet his eye and instead busy myself by memorizing the number of stone tiles that cover the floor under my chair.
It’s nine.
His inhale of breath is quiet, but it roars in my ears in the still of the room. “What happened?” he asks, his voice low and gravely.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago. The stark disclaimer of you taking…”
Before I can think, his knees are against mine again, and his chair is pulled to me. He clasps my hands and implores, “I had and have no intention of harming you. I would never cross any lines you’re not comfortable with.”
If I had been told just a week ago that I would believe that Mace Nightroot meant me no harm, there is no way I would have conceived it.
But today, I accept it wholly, with no doubt within me.
I meet his gaze, sadness and relief coursing through me. “I believe that, I do. But…”
He cuts me off. “But nothing will happen between us tonight, Viola.”
The relief that washes through me must be evident to him because briefly hurt colors his face before it returns to its familiar state of apathy. “I did want it to. I mean, I do want something to happen. Eventually,” I hedge. I can tell he does not fully believe me.
It’s then I notice that I have not heard lightning or rain since we broke apart. I glance towards the window, and while the night sky is dark, the skies are clear.
“We should be getting you home, Miss Mistflow,” he says, rising to his full height.
I wince at his use of honorific. “Please, Mace, this… I promise this isn’t you.”
He waves away my protests, but his eyes soften when he looks at me. “I understand, Viola.”
This man before me awakened a fire inside that I have not felt in a long time. He pulled yearning from me effortlessly. While his words may have triggered an unfortunate memory, his actions afterward showed me just how different he is from that man. With the men from the village, Amio included, I was scratching an itch to move on and be able to focus better. It was a transactional relationship purely for function.
When I touched Mace, it was excitement coursing through my veins. Desire pooled in me and stretched its tendrils out toward him, begging for his attention.
Mace moves to open the door to lead me out, and I grab his hand in mine. As he turns to look at me, I move my body up against his, pressing the air from the space between our chests. He grows rigid beneath me, breath caught in his lungs as he peers down at me with trepidation. And then my lips meet his. I kiss him softly until I feel his body melt into mine. One of his large hands rests on my lower back, and he parts his lips for me, welcoming my tongue into his mouth.
The kiss is gentle and languid, with no regard for time.
I can feel him holding back underneath the surface. And I must admit, I long to push the boundary, to dive deeper into this man, but I know this is all it can be for now.
We kiss like that for what feels like ages, and eventually, he pulls away, his lips swollen and glistening from the effort. His eyes glitter with desire as they travel the lengths of my body. “I meant it when I said I do want something to happen between us,” I say, smirking.
Ever the image of composure, he runs his hand through his hair and shrugs nonchalantly. “So you’ve shown.” Our gazes lock for another moment, and I start to giggle, the rush of so many different emotions confusing my system. He meets my giggle with a full laugh, the sound of which warms my chest and melts the last part of me intent on keeping him away.
Mace grabs my hand and says, “Let’s get you home, Viola. We can continue this tomorrow,” while dragging me out the door and back to the Palace.
Chapter 37
Viola
Theincessantbuzzingofthe magic that powers the lighting in this basement is going to make me cut my own ears off.
Sleep will not find me, my body is still too worked up from my encounter with Mace.
I stare at the ceiling, the light sparkling across the gray ceiling like fireflies. The silk of the red blanket on my bed caresses my skin, slipping across my bare back that is still on fire with Mace’s touch.
What am I doing? What would Max say if she saw me now, eagerly throwing myself into the arms of the fae at the head of the group responsible for so many deaths and atrocities? Would her desire for me to move on and live a normal life outweigh her anger towards the fae if she knew the truth of the Race?
Unable to ease the humming in my veins left behind by Mace with sheer willpower and the night too thick to run the arousal out, I’m left with but one option. With a quick glance at where Tulip sleeps, I slide from my bed and into the bathing chamber.
