Page 139 of Anathema

“Perhaps it’s best for your innocent perceptions that I don’t answer that.”

The smile on my face faded. “I’m not as innocent as you might imagine.”

“I’m certain our definitions of innocence are not the same.”

Although I shouldn’t have thought of his words as a challenge, I also didn’t want him thinking that I lived so purely as to be naïve. “I crafted poisons back in Mortasia. I told myself that they were for pests and rodents, but after a while …” I hesitated to say at first. Speaking my thoughts aloud felt too much like a confession, but Sacton Crain had always said confession cleansed the soul. “I wondered if I even cared that they weren’t.”

“The ability to kill doesn’t make you a killer.”

“These were fairly deadly concoctions.”

“Everything is poison with the proper dose. Even you.”

I bit my lip to stifle a smile. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult, or compliment,” I said, keeping my gaze from his, despite knowing the answer to that was probably written in his expression right then. “You’re implying too much of me is deadly?”

He shrugged. “Depends on one’s tolerance for poison.”

Linking my fingers behind my back I nodded. “Hmmm. It seems most would choose to avoid the risk all together. How unfortunate for me.”

“I wouldn’t call it misfortune, but rather, a means of weeding out weaker prospects. There are those who fear flirting with death, while some of us find it utterly enthralling.”

We arrived at my bedroom door, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look up at him, my thoughts winding around the meaning of his words that seemed uncharacteristically flirtatious, unless he was being literal. “So, if not death, then what does a dangerous scorpion killer fear?” I asked, with a hint of amusement, and daring to lift my gaze, I found his eyes riveted on my lips.

“You first,” he volleyed back. “You don’t seem to fear the things you should. The darkness, impossibly large spiders, things that long to take your life. What in seven hells do you fear?”

Schooling a smile, I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught at the back of my throat, my hesitation strangling them. Answering felt too vulnerable. Too intimate. And yet, for some strange reason, I was compelled to tell him, anyway. “Being alone.” The truth in those words burned inside my mouth. “I’m afraid of being completely alone in the world.” I urged myself not to think of Aleysia, but at a flash of her face, the first tingle of tears hit the rims of my eyes, and I cleared my throat, desperate for distraction. “Now you.”

He toyed with one of my loose curls, running it through his thumb and forefinger. “I fear the unknown,” he said, his brows flickering with a troubled expression. “The uncalculated fragments of time that are left to fate.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed a man like you believed in fate.”

The gentle caress of his thumb across my throat stifled my breath. “I don’t. That’s what troubles me. I require both precision and predictability.” The way he stared at my lips stirred a restless and wanton ache that had me clenching my thighs. “The whims of fate are an irksome intrusion, and yet …” He canted toward me, as if to kiss me, his lips mere inches from mine. “Who could’ve predicted that one touch of your pounding pulse would be so disarming.” Warm breath scattered across my skin, and my heart stuttered with anticipation as he thumbed the curve of my neck. “What wicked spells you weave, little witch.”

I’d never longed for a kiss so much in my life. The dizzying aroma of leather and spice watered my tongue for one taste of him. “And still, you’re not inclined to act impulsively,” I said a little too boldly, given my complete lack of experience with a man like him. The kind who surely took pleasure with the same dauntless tenacity that he undoubtedly took life.

His lips pulled to a devilish smirk. “Consider that a kindness. My inclination is to break whatever stirs my impulsive nature.” His thumb lingered at my throat a moment longer, then without another word, he released me and strode off.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ZEVANDER

Ablack bird perched itself on a weathered branch of a tree just outside of Eidolon’s gates, as Zevander strode up to Ravezio, whose arrow was nocked and aimed at the small creature.

A mimicrow, no doubt.

The bird hopped along the branch, closer to the gates, but quickly jumped back when he seemed to hit the ward that shimmered on impact. It let out a caw and fluttered its wings. “I bring a message from the king.”

Zevander crossed his arms. “What is your message?”

“He requests your presence this afternoon. Urgently.”

Stifling a groan, or any sound of disapproval that the bird would’ve undoubtedly carried back to Sagaerin, Zevander rolled his shoulders back. “Did he say what for?”

“Did he say what for?” the bird echoed, and the Letalisz did groan that time, as the bird seemed to be out of further instruction.

“I will set out at once.”

“I will set out at once,” the bird reverberated and flapped its wings again. “Did he say what for? I will set out at once.” With that, the bird took flight, and Ravezio lowered his arrow.

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