Page 93 of Of Wind and Terror

“Because?” One of his brows arches. It somehow makes him look even more arrogant and condescending.

“Because I’m your mate.” I allow the declaration to settle between us, trembling slightly like the taut string of a violin that has just been plucked.

I search his reaction carefully.

Those silver eyes widen nearly imperceptibly, and his jaw clenches, causing the scar bisecting his cheek to twitch. I have to give him credit—he has a good poker face. I imagine he’s skilled at cards.

But he’s not unflappable. Everyone has their tells, and I think I’ve finally pinpointed Draven’s.

To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure my assessment was correct. Yes, he threw that word around, but I never felt a connection to him the way one did with fated mates. But at the same time, I never felt that connection with anyone. Not Blaze. Not Treyton. Not Aleksander.

I don’t know if it’s because something inside of me is inherently broken or if it’s my curse as the Death Whisperer or if it’s something else entirely.

Either way, I was gambling when I declared myself his mate. Only…it seemed to have paid off.

Draven has gone very, very still. The muscles in his shoulders ripple with unfettered tension—tension I can feel saturating the air in sickly, corrosive waves.

For a long moment, I don’t think he’s going to respond, but then he places his hand over the cuffs, whispers a single word, and a flash of white light explodes from his palm. The cuffs around my wrists clatter to the floor.

“How long have you known?” His voice is a husky rasp that conjures images of the last time I was with him.

His mouth on my breast…

His hand beneath my skirt…

Twin flames erupt in my cheeks, but I duck my head before Draven can notice. When I’m certain I have myself under control, I force my gaze to meet his. Those silver, metallic eyes ensnare my own, and I’m helpless to look away, utterly bespelled by him.

“I didn’t know,” I confess, punctuating the words with a shrug. “Not until now.”

“But you suspected.” It’s not a question.

“A lot of things have been coming to light recently,” I admit, thinking of Treyton. Of Blaze. Of Aleksander. Of Calan.

So many secrets…

How many more can be thrown on top of me before I’m buried alive?

“I want you to tell me the truth,” I continue, grateful when my hands don’t shake, belying my trepidation.

“The truth.” He speaks the last word slowly, as if he’s tasting it on his tongue. Devouring it.

“The truth.” I nod once.

“The truth is, little bird, that I’m obsessed with you. Completely, utterly, one hundred percent obsessed. I think about your taste when you’re not around me. Your sweet, perfect body. Your supple breasts and wet pussy. I want to fasten you to my mouth so I can taste you until the end of time. I want to care for and worship you in a way I never have with Gaia or any of the other minor goddesses. This bed will become my altar, and you will be the deity I prostrate myself before.”

He takes a step closer until his hard chest brushes my soft curves. Goose bumps pebble on both my arms.

“Is that truth enough for you?”

Liquid heat surges to my core, and I wonder if he notices. I don’t want to have this reaction to him, yet… It seems inevitable, like trying to stop time.

“That male in the dungeon…” I allow my hands to hover in the air, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.

The glazed expression clouding his eyes clears, replaced by confusion. “Your Winter Prince? Calan?”

“Calan is in the dungeon?” I ask in disbelief.

Gaia. That must’ve been what happened to him after Draven’s forces attacked the temple.

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