Page 37 of Nocturn

Something surfaced so close. So terribly close.

I stiffened. The overwhelming sensation might kill me.

He groaned against my neck, and I lost all sense as a pinnacle swept me away.

I screamed, my hand spanning across his chest, rubbing into the hard muscle until I memorized the feel of steel under the cotton. How would it feel with my flesh touching his?

The pulsing between my legs had rendered me limp. A hard length pressed against my leg. Was that his . . .

“Lord Draven,” I whimpered.

He groaned against my neck and his tongue swiped across. He fit between my thighs, the desk tall enough to minimize how much he had to lean down.

“My legs are shaking?” I whispered, sense returning to my body.

I couldn’t stop panting. Now I understood those feeders I had seen.

“What was that?” The foolish question crawled free on the heels of embarrassment.

Lord Draven chuckled, his hands sliding across my back as he straightened, removing his mouth. The smile disappeared so quickly that I must have imagined it. Horror widened his gaze. He released me by my next blink. I lost my balance and sent stacked books tumbling off the edge of the desk.

Lord Draven continued to look at me, unmoving, his gaze fastened on my neck as if it would attack him. His chest rose and fell sharply, his jaw working from side to side.

“Pick that up,” he finally ordered, but it did not have the same bite. “Now!” he roared.

I hopped off the edge of the desk, and my knees wobbled. Lord Draven reached out, cupping my elbow and steadying me. He pulled back and raked his hand through his hair. I fixated on the veins beneath the pale skin.

My blood stained the corner of his mouth. His hand followed my gaze. He touched the curve of his bottom lip and came away with scarlet on his fingertips. His tongue swiped across the stain, collecting it.

He shuddered, then all at once, he went still. Anger flitted across his features.

I whirled and crouched to pick up the stack of books I had knocked over, grasping for anything to return me to normalcy. I stacked Magicks and Bluebloods on top of The Art of Magicks: Knowing How to Activate.

My eyebrow ached to arch up, so I kept my head lowered. What exactly does he need these for?

Grabbing two other blank journals, I placed them on top and reached for the last one, still open. I brought it closer and breathed in sharply.

A drawing. Clean lines curved upward on the half-closed bloom, the angled petals hugging its heart.

“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, admiring the clean lines of the Rosah flower. The parchment had absorbed the ink. I had searched so many markets and shops for a journal of this quality, thick enough for the ink not to bleed when I crushed flowers between the pages.

“Can I have this?” I blurted without thought, peering up at him from where I knelt on the rug.

He watched me with uncensored confusion. I had asked the Warlord for a journal. Life was no longer the same. What was I thinking? I stood quickly, and my head swam. Gritting my teeth, I placed it on the edge of the desk where it had been.

Lord Draven’s face was fixed into a twisted expression. I was unsure whether it was discomfort or anger.

“I apologize,” I murmured meekly.

He continued to study me as I crouched to collect the stack on the carpet and placed them on top of the journal.

The first time I had asked for something, and I had bungled it. It had been the incorrect question. Owning a journal wasn’t the foremost of my concern. Guilt swelled.

“May I be allowed to see Piper?” I blurted.

He cocked his head, causing his tawny hair to rustle against his temples.

“My wraithling,” I clarified. His mouth thinned. His disgust should not have surprised me. “Please, Lord Draven.” I stepped forward. “Please.”