Page 56 of Threaded

Absolutely infuriating.

“Much has been lost to history. It is all mostly folklore at this point.” Sebastian was staring at Andrian, his brilliant mind turning at what his dark companion was suggesting. “It’s said that Qhohena rules over the golden moon and has since the dawn of time. But the silver moon … for some reason, I cannot recall.” A look of bewilderment crossed his hazel eyes.

“Ah, butbrother, what would you say if I told you that I have found some texts from the time of the First War, texts that speak of legends they don’t teach us in school, stories that may even shed some light on a certain silver moon and the power it contains?”

There was silence in the clearing.

“How do you …?” Sebastian’s question trailed off as he continued to stare at Andrian, thoroughly perplexed.

“Let’s just say that growing up, getting lost in history was far more enjoyable than the present for me.” Mariah could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of something other than cold hatred or boredom in those tanzanite eyes, but it vanished like smoke caught on the wind. Andrian’s signature snark was back as he turned again to Sebastian. “You’re not the only one who reads,brother.”

Goddess, he was such an asshole.

Sebastian—her calm, steady Sebastian—looked nearly as annoyed as Mariah. Judging by the way he clenched his fists at his side, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him leap forward and land a punch on Andrian’s annoyingly perfect jaw.

The more that image played in her head, the more she wished it were reality.

She shook her head to clear the thought, the more pressing matters at hand refocusing her mind. Mariah met the gazes of all three men—two of them bound to her for life, one just a massive pain in her ass.

A pain in her ass whose nose she had a slight desire to break. A demon had no right to look as he did; he needed to be marred, given at least some sort of imperfection that would shake him from her thoughts.

“Let’s all save the sword fighting for training. I have to meet with Ryenne this morning, but I want you all to meet me in the library after lunch. Andrian, I don’t actually care if you show up, but Sebastian and Quentin, I’ll need your help.”

Not waiting for a response, Mariah turned on her heel and jogged her way back to the palace.

* * *

Mariah realized, somewhat belatedly, that she’d only ever walked past the doors leading into the palace library. She’d never actually stepped through them.

She didn’t consider herself much of a reader, preferring to lose herself in the physical world around her rather than those contained within words on a page. She’d done well enough in school, doing the minimum to learn what she needed and advance through the years and courses. She’d been carried by a natural level of intelligence, but reading and learning were never her passion. Mariah found her true joys to be with things she could touch, feel, and taste in the world around her.

Or perhaps she’d just never picked up the right book.

Either way, this library was glorious and decadent enough to make her want to give reading another try.

The heavy oak double doors, inlaid with delicate golden inscriptions of books and words in the ancient language of Onita, opened into a great cavern of a space carved directly into the side of the mountains. High above, the roof was domed and made of glass, the light from the late autumn sun beaming down and filtering around the rows and rows androwsof books, volumes, tomes, and texts beneath it. The main area of the library was shaped like a circular atrium, and in the stacks that lay in that direct sunlight were most of the modern texts—books written for pleasure and escape rather than for knowledge or learning. Branching off the main atrium were several hallways, some darker than the others, and she spotted several large tables and workspaces for patrons of the library to conduct their research in peace.

Mariah stalked through the shelves in the center of the atrium, running her fingers along the neatly organized spines. As she started to read the titles, she noticed with a jolt that she’d found herself in a section dedicated to romance. Spurned by a wave of curiosity, she grabbed a random title from the shelf—its spine readThe Passion of Snowfall—and let the binding fall open to a random page. As she began to read, her eyebrows slowly creeped into her hairline, heat rushing in a wave to her face and core.

“I felt the groan leave my lips, his answering growl at my back as he pressed me forward, onto my hands and knees, and then I felt him pushing into me, stretching me, claiming me—”

“My, my,nio, what is it that you’ve found here?”

That dark voice skated down Mariah’s spine, pooling low in her already molten stomach, the flush on her cheeks creeping even higher. She froze, and then slowly closed the book before placing it back on the shelf, turning to meet Andrian’s vivid blue stare.

She’d expected to feel like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water the second she laid her eyes on him.

What she felt instead, though, wasfarfrom that.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him, leaning against the bookshelf, no more than three feet from her. She had no idea how he’d crept up on her, but there he was, so close that if she took but a few short steps, she would be able totouchhim.

And by the Goddess, she wanted to touch him.

You want to do far more than touch him.

A small voice somewhere in the back of her mind tried to remind her that she despised him. Tried to remind her that he was a disrespectful asshole, a bane to her existence, someone who’d even promised to make her lifemiserablesince the day he’d sworn his oath to her. He was a constant headache all wrapped up in a tall, dark, and painfully attractive package.

And with that one final thought, she promptly forgot about how much she loathed him. All she could think about was the molten heat coursing through her veins, the way his incredible tanzanite eyes burned into her very soul, the way his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly as she shifted slightly where she stood, desperate for any sort of friction between her legs.

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