Page 96 of The Shrouded Queen
I angled my head toward him, our cheeks brushing. “I told you, I’m not scared of you.”
“I guess I’m not making myself clear.” His lips skimmed over the spot behind my ear. Almost a kiss but not quite. His palm against my stomach drew me even closer, and I sucked in a breath when I felt something hot and hard dig into the small of my back. Fire melted down my spine, centering in my core. Keir took hold of my jaw and turned my face so I was looking straight into those simmering eyes. “Clear enough?”
Oh yes. He was very, very clear.
Keir wanted me. It should have disgusted me or frightened me. And yet, against every instinct, every ounce of common sense, every logical corner of my mind, a thrill shot through me. My gaze lowered to his lips, so close his breath dusted across mine. All I had to do was lean an inch closer, and I’d taste them—
Keir ripped his hands away and stepped back, cold filling the sudden space between us. He stared at me, brows high, chest rising and falling rapidly. Almost as if he’d heard my thoughts. Or rather, smelled them.
Voice shaky, I ventured, “Keir?”
“I’ll get the healer.”
“Keir—”
Paws hit the earth in seconds as he shifted and bounded away.
I stood there, with only the dim torches and stars for light, andfought to catch my breath. My face felt too hot, my insides were on fire, and my legs were like a newborn colt’s. For some reason, I felt embarrassed, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. Wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened in general. Why had Keir… and why hadI…? I could still smell mulberries, a cloud around me pulling at that memory I couldn’t quite see. At once comforting and intoxicating.
I shook my head, trying desperately to clear it, and practically sprinted back to my cabin.
Siv came and patched me up. But even after she made assurances that I’d be all right, even after she agreed not to tell Rade what had happened, and even after Milena had fallen asleep curled up beside me, I could still feel Keir’s breath on my neck, his heat against me, his rough voice in my ear.
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
THIRTY-EIGHTAMUNET
I stood with my back firmly pressed against the wall beside the door, waiting like a snake in the grass.
Anwar kept my meals regular. Three times a day, never missed.
I’d started counting the seconds in between meals. Timing them with exceptional precision. An obsessive, needlelike focus. I didn’t hear any of Zaid’s taunts, didn’t bother scratching at my inflamed skin.
I waited. And I waited.
My concentration was honed by fury. I didn’t lose my place in tallying the seconds even once. Not even when I thought the door was watching me. I was more than irate; I was boiling with all the flames of the deepest pit of the Trench.
I counted. And counted. Until I was absolutely sure.
Five hours between breakfast and lunch, and lunch and supper. Thirteen hours between supper and breakfast.
Which meant my next breakfast was coming in exactly twenty-three seconds.
The tips of my fingers tingled with anticipation.
Click. The lock. And then the knob turned.
Malik was instantly alert when he didn’t see me waiting like a good little pet on the other side of the room. His scimitar zinged as he brandished it. “I won’t search for you, demon,” he barked. “Come get your food now, or wait until sup—”
I whipped around the door and slammed my elbow down on Malik’s wrist with a battle cry. The scimitar fell into my waiting hand, and while the guard was still stunned, I plunged it into his throat.
Malik stumbled sideways into the wall, mouth gaping open. I grinned, hoping he saw the face of my father’s demons reflected in my eyes, and cut the blade to the right, severing his artery.
The guard choked, and blood spurted out, bathing my face. The metallic smell lunged up my nose. I inhaled deeply and licked the blood off my lips, copper and salt filling my mouth.
Malik collapsed, his head attached to his body by only a few resolute tendons.
I bolted out the open door, up the stairs, slammed into the door at the top—
