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I annihilate my own doubts and kiss him back. His lips yield. He tastes bittersweet and utterly addictive.
His fingers dance along the back of my neck, tracing up my nape, threading into the upswept strands of my hair.
He holds me there for a moment, his kisses growing deep and insistent.
And then he lets go.
I look up at him, stunned.
“You have no idea how utterly alluring you are, Finley. I…” He shakes his head.
For once, the charming, eloquent vampire prince is lost for words.
He takes my hand. “We’d better get out of here.” He quickly leads me across the frozen surface of the pond. At least he isn’t sweeping me up into his arms again. I don’t mind it all that much, but he can’t be carrying me everywhere.
I’m not a child.
As we reach solid ground, we turn and look back at the icy lake.
Crack.
In the centre, a dark fissure appears, spreading apart to reveal the inky waters below.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did your kiss do that, Corvan?”
He chuckles. “If there’s ever a metaphor for what you’ve done to me, that’s it. Maybe it’s a coincidence… maybe something else. Let’s go back to your chambers. You need to rest, because tomorrow we’re going on a journey.”
“A journey?” I’m still reeling from his kiss.
“Tomorrow we’ll go up into the mountains, to Niize, to pay the Khaturian elders a visit.”
“Why?”
“Because Khaturian lore is ancient and deep, and they might know something about a woman who can bend wood with her bare hands.” He smiles in the moonlight; enigmatic, radiant. “Don’t worry about a thing, Finley. You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you’re with me.”
29
CORVAN
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun rises, while Finley and most of Castle Tyron are slumbering in their beds, I summon Baron Lucar Solisar to the throne room.
He’s brought in by a small, wiry, sharp-eyed guard called Marcus, who’s sworn off alcohol for life and religiously wakes before the crack of dawn.
I lean back in my throne, watching as Marcus leads him into the room.
“Kneel,” Marcus commands, his voice hoarse and menacing.
Solisar takes one look at me and wisely drops to his knees. He opens his mouth to speak, looks at me again, then closes it.
He’s a different man to the belligerent fool that was banging down my gates. His head is lowered. His posture is slumped.
I wait, allowing the silence to stretch out between us. Kneeling on the cold stone floor must be uncomfortable for him.
I don’t care. I’m feeling a little bit savage this morning.
I’ve just returned from killing three lycans outside the castle walls. They came in the early hours of the morning, vicious and hungry for human flesh. I heard them. Scented them. So I stole outside with my broadsword without anyone noticing.
I needed to release some pent-up tension, anyway.
