Page 97 of Embers of Ruin

“I want to know what you feel…”

“Just do it before I change my mind.”

He smiles, and then he reaches. I feel the silk caress of his presence against my mind, brushing right at the edges. He’s seeking something, flipping past my… thoughts? Emotions? I don’t know what he’s probing for until he brings it so vividly in my mind that I see it. Hatred. It’s hot, raw, and real.

I’m going to kill him.

Gods, he’s beautiful.

I hate him.

Gods... why does he have to be so damned beautiful?

I want him to touch me again.

Higher. Please, Thorin.

Gods, I’m going to explode. I need this man.

He’s racing past my feelings. OH. He wants to know how I feel.

NO.

“Stop!” I scream, because I don’t want him to know the truth. I’m a coward. He isn’t searching my mind at random. He’s only pulling forward the memories tied to him. He never even reaches for Onyx, as though it never occurred to him that someone else might matter. Arrogant bastard.

“Thorin, why?” I ask, certain the hurt is written all over my face. Tears sting my eyes, hot and heavy, and I fight to keep them from falling.

“Why do you need to know?”

“I need to know if you feel the pull like I do, muya mivanti.”

“What do those words even mean?”

“That is not important right now.” His eyes soften, and the familiar silver swirls come into focus. He brings his mouth to my face so gently, kissing my tears. He drags a fingertip across my eyelid, then presses it to his tongue, savoring the taste.

“Gods, your tears taste just as sweet as your arousal.”

“Thorin!” I groan, looking away, but he cups my cheeks to stop me.

“Don’t look away from me. Not this time.” He studies me for a long time and I do the same.

“Goddess, you are divine, Lyra. You possess the most beautiful spirit. You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Inside and out.”

Is he sane? I know he saw the flickering thoughts of ‘I hate this man’ flash by at least a hundred times.

“I—” He stops me by crushing his lips against mine, fisting my hair as raw, primal instinct takes over and we’re not titles. Not king and healer, we’re just… together.

And gods—I’ve never felt something so beautiful or explosive in my entire life.

CHAPTER 22

By the time I reach the training yard, I’m already tired. Not from the walk, but from the routine that’s become my life. Every day starts with Mazelle finding a new way to throw me into the sand while Thorin reminds me to stop thinking and start trusting my instincts. I am getting better, but I’m exhausted. Apparently, this is what progress looks like.

The sand has been raked smooth since Mazelle last introduced my body to it, which I find personally insulting. I liked the touch of my outline there. Perhaps others didn’t share my same feelings. I walk to the training center to find Thorin standing at the center of it.

He wears black again, his sleeves rolled to his forearms—and I notice his forearms. Strong. Lean. Defined enough that it’s obvious his shadows aren’t doing all the work around here. I immediately shove that thought away because it has nothing to do with training.

My eyes disagree.