Page 72 of Creatures that Breathe

For a second, I’m absolutely still. Then I’m sweeping furious hands out wide, narrowing my eyes. “Are you insane? I’m not a spy. Do we look alike? Act the same? Have I clocked the exits or rifled through your drawers? Is there a knife tucked under my shirt? No.”

He leans forward, expression stony, broad hands sliding over the edge of the bed and gripping. “We both know that’s exactly what I’d do to shed an identity and project loyalty, right before I slit someone’s throat.”

He’s right.

It’s a smart play.

The only way to prove he’s wrong is to hightail it in the other direction.

Quietly, I clear my throat, slide my hand over his jaw. “Even if I were any of those things, and I promise you, I’m not. I wouldn’t hurt you.” My laugh is self-effacing. Watery and thin. “Complete honesty? Even knowing you are a spy, an assassin, a Blackguard, I like you.”

Cross doesn’t respond.

Instead, black bleeds into his eyes, the skin of his cheek burns my palm. Thick dancing shadows create a dark outline over his form.

Like clockwork, my thoughts stop short and scatter. A swishing stream of confusion slithers through me, roils against my thoughts like a cat ensconcing its master, distracting and soothing and—my admission hurtles away from me, skids apart like sand through open fingers.

Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I stagger back. My limbs become heavy, as if filled with toxic smoke. Ridiculous courses of action ripple through me. Like sticking my head out the window or running from the room, like leaving and never coming back.

“No,” I snarl, fumbling internally, rushing to pick up the pieces of my mind. “Stop, I huff, worried I’m alone in a canyon. “Stop. It doesn’t work.” I grit my teeth, stare at the bed, at the dark silhouette. Almost buckle under the weight of memories. Glare. “I’m not afraid of you, Cross.”

Breathing hard, his nostrils flare. He swears, voice rough, reedy.

Then, I’m in his space, losing my fingers in black smoke, fury in my teeth. “You can’t magic me away. I’m not quitting. This isn’t a whim for me.”

His voice is quiet, though not quite a whisper, and the warmth of his breath sweeps hair off my cheek. “How do you fight it?”

“This isn’t revenge, Cross. This is my life. My fiancé is a monster. Of the worst kind. His desires … He wants a wife to beat and break and tame. And I was chosen before I was even born. Put into a deal to be with him. For eternity. I know you’re not a hero, but you are a predator, and you’re higher up on the food chain than him, and I really really need that.”

He’s up then, a mountain of shadow and skin plowing across the room, crowding me into the wall, a look on his face that could boil water. “What has he done to you? Has he hurt you?”

Gently, he caresses my jaw in his hands, guiding me to crane for him, to arch as he bends down. Strawberry, sweet and ripe, lingers on his skin, settles on my tongue. “My last question.”

“You’re out of bargaining chips.”

“Leni.”

Has Draven hurt me? It’s a subject I don’t know how to breach. “Nothing compared to what he promises to do,” I admit. “I just want to live for a little while. Is that too much to ask? To swim in the ocean, to sleep on a beach, to be with a male without …” I close my eyes. “Without worrying.”

“You could choose any man for that, Leni. Give me a reason to trust you and I’ll break for you. I’ll lay my sword at your feet.” He sounds almost impatient.

I can’t give him a reason. Not one he’d accept. Cross loved the king, protected him.

“Is it so unbelievable that I’d want you?” I ask, heart pounding as I finally set my gaze on him. Let it stick.

Roam.

Heat fans across my skin.

Nudity in the palace is reserved for Divine portraits and cherubs, neither of which compare well to Cross. He’s youth without softness, and beauty without refinement, and those eyes—supernovas creating new galaxies.

Every breath I take makes my rib cage expand and press against him. “Cross—” My words get caught. Strangled. My eyes go wide, catch the barest flash of dark green.

He kisses me. Movements testing and delicate, lips rough, scratching.

A gasp wrenches from my throat. Must be an offensive move because he groans in counter, sending sparks down my spine as his hands slink around my nape to drag me up against him.

Then his tongue swipes mine.

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