Page 114 of Creatures that Breathe

My first time, or the first time I remember, involved fumbling around in the stables, a maze of skirts, the smell of hay, my bare ass exposed to the bitter snap of an English winter. It’d been as simple as base desire. Her beckoning fingers, my eagerness. We’d scrambled and tripped and hurried. It was pleasant. From then on, I partook when I had the time, the energy, when the loneliness gnawed.

I remember, vividly, my first time after joining the Kingsguard. The gold embossing on my armor had sparked the rarefied interest of a courtesan. She threw hot coals from the bed warmer on me when she woke up with a stranger.

Leni will remember.

And I want it to be right. I need her to remember me, not as the Blackguard, the killer, the spy. Not even the honorable Kingsguard.

Me. As in the other half of her.

For as long as she’s here with me, I must be the gentlemen I was born to be. Once she flitters off, runs with her gained freedom, I’ll thrash the title once again.

Leni’s hand trembles around the thin stem of her flute, and she drinks more to keep from spilling over the top.

This is not the female who chased me across continents, who burned down the Ballasts, who punched Atlas.

“We don’t have to do this,” I offer

She shoots the last of her flute and slams it to the table. The sharp clink reverberates. “We do.” Her eyes are ablaze, her tone firm. “And I’m ready.”

There she is. Licking the corner of her mouth, glaring, chin thrown up. Arsonist, princess.

I cup her face in my hands, marveling at the softness. “I’ll kill him.” It needs to be said before we begin. Get it out of the way. “For you, I’ll slice Draven’s throat and watch him choke on his glittery fucking blood.”

Her eyes fall shut, exhale loud in the silence. “Andromeda said the chains forbade you from hurting royalty.”

“And the field medics said I’d be lucky to live past thirty. I will not have the curse forever. Kadmos’s retribution is now an insignificant step on the way to my real vengeance.”

She smirks, and I can’t help but taste the hint of champagne on her lips. Short. Quick. A furious rush of adrenaline bites my veins. When I draw back, she’s shaking her head at me.

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’m lying?”

“The opposite, actually.” Her hands land on my belt. The sound of the buckle being loosened fills the air like the snap of a viper’s jaw. “The ghost, the spymaster, commander of secrets. I pictured you a thousand times. Clad in your black, slinking around corners. The only male in the realm to evade the pursuit of the Pierides.” She presses me backward, but I don’t budge, instead letting the weight of her body fall flush against mine. “Surely this male of such incredible intelligence would be well above inane emotion. Above such lurid passions.”

“If that’s true, then you set out on a fool’s errand trying to seduce me.”

“Tell me I wasn’t in your mind for weeks,” she whispers, like a seasoned temptress. What was in that champagne? “Tell me you weren’t wondering who I was, why I followed you, tell me you weren’t desperate to know.”

“I can’t.”

This woman is my perfect match.

“I know how intoxicating an unsolved mystery can be.” She slinks closer still, filling the air with a delicate floral and berry scent. “You were my puzzle. I kept wondering will the heartless spymaster be methodical and cool headed in his task?”

Task. I yearn to banish the word from her lips. Yearn for her to think of me as more than a step to her freedom, a final piece for her to place before her victory.

If she wants methodical, fine. I’ll count the lines of her ribs, kiss down the breaks of her spine, catalog every one of her curves. “And finding out?” I slide my lips down the arch of her neck. “Will that bring you peace? Knowing? Solving your mystery?”

I claim her mouth with mine before she can answer, savoring her gasp and the cinch of her fingers on my wrists. Too quickly, it spirals, becomes reckless and ragged. My blood turns molten. I push aside her hair with my nose and coast my mouth along the sensitive spot below her ear, trail my teeth and tongue over her nape.

I’ve been hard since last night, but with a hot little sigh, Leni turns me to iron.

“You’re not Tantalus,” Leni breathes, scoring her nails across my scalp.

I slide a hand around her hip to her backside, hold her tightly as I press her against my arousal. “Yes, I am.”

I am Tantalus, tempted to keep a woman who dreams of freedom.

I am Tantalus, tempted to kill her abuser without ever being able.

---