Page 92 of Shadows of Winter

“Was my mother’s cat also a fan of your honey?”

“I don’t think cats eat honey.”

“So, no.”

“No.”

Vlerion gripped Crenoch’s fur and swung himself onto the taybarri’s back. “I will take you to the castle to assist your brother with the opening of the eating house tonight, but, unless Targon tells me differently, I will expect you at dawn tomorrow for training.” He lowered his hand, offering her assistance.

Kaylina was tempted to refuse, saying she could pull herself up, but nobody had given her a lesson on mounting a taybarri yet—what if there was only a certain spot or certain way they allowed their fur to be grabbed as an aid for rising? She clasped his hand.

She expected him to pull her up behind him, but he lifted her with ease and settled her in front of him, wrapping an arm around her waist. What, did he think she might leap off on the way back and try to escape?

Maybe his grip should have felt like a prison, but her entire body flushed with the awareness of him behind her. This was a more intimate position than she’d imagined.

She looked around for Isla and found her standing in the doorway, watching with a deep frown, as if she was positive nothing good would come of them riding together. But Vlerion had apparently reached the age at which he would no longer obey his mother unconditionally.

Isla tilted her head back and swallowed the rest of the mead. Something told Kaylina she might get drunk today, a way to keep from thinking about losing another son.

But she wouldn’t. At least not because of anything Kaylina did. She hadn’t intended to fling herself at Vlerion, even before his mother had told her everything, and she wouldn’t now. She would be a fool—if not suicidal—to ignore Isla’s warning.

But when Crenoch started walking, and then loping with the ease of a wolf that could cover dozens of miles in a day, the jostling shifted her back until Vlerion’s inner thighs rested against her outer thighs, the heat of his body intense even through his clothing. The muscular arm around her waist kept her in place. Maybe she should have requested the carriage ride.

But Vlerion had to know what he was doing. He hadn’t succumbed to lust when Ghara Saybrook had propositioned him, nor had he let himself gaze salaciously at Kaylina during their training. If he was interested in her at all, which Kaylina wasn’t convinced of, he could control himself.

As Crenoch galloped down the road, his powerful legs carrying them far faster than the carriage would have, Kaylina allowed herself to relax. Vlerion had said he would return her to the castle, and this would get her back sooner. It was logical. There was nothing to worry about.

“My mother thinks I’m drawn to you because you’re an anrokk,” Vlerion stated with disdain. “Like the horses and taybarri and her sloth of a cat.”

“I… She mentioned having concerns like that, but you’re not, right? You haven’t— I mean, you don’t even like me, right?”

“You are exasperating and irreverent.”

“Yup, that’s what I thought.”

“But I am attracted to you.”

Her heart skipped a few beats at the startling admission. What was she supposed to say to that? To do?

He shifted slightly behind her, and she could feel the evidence of his attraction through his trousers.

“Not because I’m a mindless animal drawn by some ancient magic in your blood,” he added.

“I didn’t say that,” Kaylina whispered, the irritation in his tone making her uneasy.

What if it ended up being his mother’s words that made him angry, that roused the beast?

“You don’t even like my mead,” Kaylina added, striving for a lighter tone, but it was hard to think about more than the arm wrapped around her—trapping her—and his hard body behind hers.

“I didn’t dislike it.”

“Such praise. Can I put that on the menu under the tasting notes? Rambunctious Red. Not disliked by rangers.”

“I’ll allow that.”

“Magnanimous.”

“Yes.”

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