Page 30 of Of Sword & Silver

His eyes flash, and a hot awareness blazes low down my spine.

“Is there a reason, Silver Tongue, that you are bent on thinking about sex with me? It seems to occupy your thoughts.” He raises one dark eyebrow, and of all the tracks I thought he might take during this conversation, that was not one of them.

But if he thinks I’m going to back down, he is sorely mistaken.

I lick my lips, making my face and body go soft. Inviting.

“Yes,” I say. “I told you as soon as we met that I was breaking you out of prison for sex. You’re the one playing coy.”

I’m playing with fire, and it makes me gleeful. His hand raises, and this time, the cat’s simply watching from the ground, without a care in the world.

He brushes a lock of my hair from my forehead, and I fight not to close my eyes at the sheer pleasure of his touch. Which is stupid. The Sword is annoying, a cocky idiot, not at all my type and not at all enticing.

But one touch from his calloused hand nearly has me panting.

Either that, or the altitude is messing with me. It must be the altitude. I don’t pant over sex. Sex is easy and cheap.

How outrageous.

I stare up at him. “Are you going to let me sheathe that sword?” I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing at my own horrible joke.

Really, though, he shouldn’t go by that name. Makes it too easy.

He brushes his thumb against my cheek, all pretense gone, until it’s just his skin against mine, his rough hand gentle on my face.

What would it be like with him? Would he be a selfish lover, or would he be as single-minded and efficient in bed as he seems to be in everything else?

“You aren’t ready for me, Silver Tongue.”

My jaw drops, but he’s already abandoned me, heading through the entrance of the cave. The cat stands, stretching long, then gives me a look as if to say, you’re an idiot.

I am. I definitely am.

Because now I can’t stop thinking about sex with him.

And we need to go commune with the dead.

Whatever that means.

10

THE SWORD

The woman constantly has me off balance. Which makes perfect sense, considering she is an agent of pure chaos.

And makes me incandescent with rage.

This entire situation is absurd, and as with all ridiculous scenarios, I know it will end in utter tragedy.

It always does around me. It always will.

Tragedy is the whetstone of Death’s blade.

I stalk through the cave, my feet remembering the way, even if my mind does not. Kyrie’s light feet barely make a sound as she enters behind me, the cat with her. The mule remains in the entrance of the cavern, safer for him to wait there for our return.

She might think it’s fun to play these games with me, but she will be the one who loses in the end.

My stomach twists at the thought.

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