Page 33 of The Rook

The incident where she embraced him at the cottage still haunted him. One moment had changed him. What would happen if he allowed her even closer?

She tasted of salvation, but the female would destroy him and everything he’d built.

Pyre downed the rest of the whiskey in one long draught, eyeing Tempest carefully as she watched the flames in the hearth. He smirked when she set the glass aside, leaving spirits in the glass. She was a suspicious one and had caught on to his game. He’d hoped to loosen her up, but she wasn’t taking the bait. Smart girl.

He glanced down at his own glass and gazed longingly into the empty bottom, wishing there was more. The stuff was delicious, but he wasn’t dumb enough to imbibe. He’d been drunk exactly once in his lifetime and would never go that far again. He liked control, and too many spirits stole any semblance of that. It wasn’t worth it.

“Tea?” he asked softly, pushing out of his chair and holding his hand out for Tempest’s glass.

“I suppose,” she said without looking at him.

Stubborn woman. After the bloody nose and tongue-lashingshe’d given him, the female had gone oddly silent, not saying more than three words to him at a time. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Pyre placed their cups on his desk and moved back to the hearth, busying himself with pouring tea into two cups painted with gold leaf and a bright-cerulean blue dye. He added a spoonful of honey to his own cup. As a child, they were too poor to have sweets. Now that he could afford them, he realized he liked sweet things. His gaze darted to Tempest.

And spicy things.

He huffed out a breath and gestured to the honey pot.

She shook her head. “I don’t like it sweet. I’m surprised thatyoudo.”

“Not sure what that is supposed to mean.” He shrugged and then winked at her, which caused the prickly female to scowl. “There is a lot you do not know about me.”

He held out her cup of tea, and she took it from him, this time pointedly not touching his fingers. Pyre hid his smile. So, she felt it too. When they touched, it lit him up. He straightened and moved back to his chair and sat. They drank in silence, sipping at the scalding tea far slower than the spirits.

Her scent swirled around him, and he grimaced at the metallic scent of dragon bleeding through her own pleasant scent. It set his teeth on edge. He could tolerate Chesh’s trespass. The Hinterland mischief-maker was always messing with him, but the dragon was something else. His scent marking was blatantly disrespectful of the scents Tempest already carried.

The silence stretched on.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

“I'm sorry about your journey,” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” Them being attacked, at least.

Tempest’s gaze moved from the fire and met his. Her lovely eyes were troubled and stormy. “Who were those people? The ones in the forest and the ones who brought us here?”

A pause. His soldiers. “I think you know who they are.”

Her lips thinned against the rim of her teacup. “I imagine you’re gathering allies. But whoarethey? It’s one thing for me to know you and Nyx and Briggs and Brine. It’s another entirely for you to expect me to work alongside brigands and murderers.”

Pyre did not reply. It was war. War wasn’t pretty. It was dark, gritty, and deadly. There wasn’t room for valiant heroes, only men and women who got the job done. Destin needed to be removed from the throne at all costs. He shrugged, knowing anything else he said would only anger her.

Instead, he redirected the conversation. “Did you manage to retrieve anything from the smuggler?”

She froze and then nodded slowly. “I did.”

“Do you have it?” he asked, amused that she’d let him change the subject so easily.

Tempest released her blanket, and he swallowed as she bent over to riffle through her bag. He cursed underneath his breath as her nightgown gaped, and he was rewarded with a glimpse of more flawless skin. Pyre dropped his gaze to her feet, feeling like a complete rogue. He’d never been ashamed to look at a woman before. Why now?

She fumbled through her satchel, and, after a few moments, pulled out a familiar wooden box. “This,” she said, unceremoniously thrusting it at Pyre. “I hope me almost being sold off was worth it.”

“Oh, it is.” He pulled the box from her fingers and brushed his right hand across the smooth surface. Pyre ran his fingers along all the joints and edges. It hadn’t been tampered with. He flicked a glance at the female and then back to the box. She hadn’t tried to open it. How unexpected.

“What is it?”

“Something special.” He didn’t elaborate further.

The Hound huffed and pulled the blanket closer, hiding her from his gaze. “When am I leaving this place?”

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