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My attention narrows until nothing exists but the pulse in her throat and the unfinished confession hanging between us. ‘When?’ I push.
She shakes her head once. ‘Nothing.’
‘Little hunter.’ The warning threads through the softness despite my attempt to keep it out.
Her chin lifts. ‘You said I had until you summon Rowan.’
‘So I did.’
‘And does the great vampire king keep his word?’
The words strike something old in me. Honour. Pride. The remnants of a man beneath the monster. ‘Yes,’ I say.
For now.
The silence after that answer presses hard against us.
Then I turn and reach for my cufflinks, because if I keep looking at her mouth, I will forget Congressman Kessler, rogue sireds, Rowan and every other inconvenience currently circling my throne.
Talk me through Eira’s movements while I was contained, I ask Malachi through the bond, blocking everyone else out.
She spent the afternoon in her room, accessing Umbra databases. Nothing she accessed should have caused alarm. Aaron confirmed it.
Did she leave the Tower?
No, sire.
Did anyone approach her?
No one who wasn’t authorised. Why?
I contemplate not answering for a second. She is hiding something.
Malachi responds instantly, cold as drawn steel. Yes.
I stare at her profile as she pretends to inspect one of her blades, the smooth line of her throat, the stubborn set of her mouth, the woman who says yes with her body and no with every locked chamber of her mind.
In bed, she was open. Almost soft, although she would likely stab me for thinking the word. No malice or calculation. Only interest when she asked about Florence, about De Santis, about rooms I should not have entered and ghosts I chose not to mourn aloud.
I do not trust easily. Almost never. Yet I find myself thinking that I can trust Eira Cross.
Or I must, given what my blood does in her presence. Given what it has begun to offer her without my permission.
Then I hear her gasp. ‘Not tonight, vampire.’
I glance down, mildly stunned to discover I have crossed the room and pinned her against the nearest wall, my body bracketing hers, cock hard against her stomach.
Her breath has quickened and so has mine.
She imitates my earlier words with infuriating accuracy, her voice alluringly husky. ‘You’ve caused enough upheaval for tonight.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then perhaps I will seek other forms of honesty.’
Her pupils widen as I lower my mouth to the side of her throat, close enough to feel a tremor move through her. The scent of her arousal blooms in the narrow space between us, and the restored power in my blood strains towards it like a beast spotting a gate left ajar.
