Page 34 of Her Fallen Angel

"Nothing's happening." But even I hear the lie in my voice.

The evening airsettles heavy and warm around us, the scent of roasted vora beast filling the dining room. Aren kneels between my legs, her dark hair a waterfall against my leather-clad thighs.

My fingers sift through the silken strands, the softness a stark contrast to the callouses on my hands. I tell myself it's about dominance, about reinforcing her place, but my touch is gentler than intended. Her head leans into my hand slightly, her deep brown eyes focused on the fire crackling in the hearth across the room.

The light casts dancing shadows over her olive skin, highlighting the delicate curve of her jaw. I can't help but notice how her long lashes cast spiked shadows on her cheeks as she blinks. Her hands, usually folded demurely in her lap, begin to move.

They slide up my legs, tracing the ridges of muscle and the rough edges of old scars through the leather. Her touch is light, explorative, and it sends a shiver of unexpected tension through me.

"What are you doing, little flame?" The words escape my lips before I can stop them, my voice rougher than intended.

She tilts her head to look up at me, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "Serving you, Kai. Isn't that what you want?" Her fingers continue their journey, moving higher, the heat of her touch seeping through the leather.

I take a piece of meat from the platter beside me, holding it to her lips. She opens her mouth, allowing me to feed her. Her eyes never leave mine as she chews, her hands now resting on my upper thighs. The warmth of her palms brands me, the subtle pressure making my pulse quicken.

She swallows, her tongue flicking out to lick a drop of juice from her lower lip. "More?"

I clench my jaw, fighting the tightening in my gut. This is supposed to be about control, about asserting my dominance. But with each touch, each soft word, she's turning the tables.

I feed her another piece, my fingers lingering on her lips a moment too long. Her hands move higher, her thumbs tracing the inner seam of my leathers.

My breath hitches, my magic stirring beneath my skin. The air between us crackles with tension. Her gaze drops to my mouth, her lips parting slightly. I can feel her warm breath on my skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest against my legs. The room fades away, the fire and the food forgotten. There's only her touch, her scent, the soft sound of her breath.

And then she leans in, her eyes flicking back up to mine. The world hangs suspended, waiting. She wants something…something I can't give her.

One thing I've never told Aren is that I've never kissed someone. I find the act too intimate, something I've never wanted until I met her. Still, giving anything over to her would be too dangerous, and I can't cross that line.

I jerk back, leaving her to catch herself on the floor. The loss of her warmth leaves me cold, but I can't - won't - let this continue. My wings snap out, creating a barrier between us as I stand.

"Go to the courtyard." My voice comes out hoarse, strained. "Time for your evening prayers."

She rises gracefully, confusion flickering across her features. "Kai-"

"Now." I grip the back of my chair, wood creaking under my fingers. "See if it feels as good being on your knees for your gods as it does for me."

The words come out cruel, mocking. Good. Better she think me heartless than weak. Better she fear me than... whatever this is.

She bows her head, that familiar submission returning. "As you wish."

I watch her leave, my chest tight with something I refuse to name. I listen to her pad outside, and I'm alone with the crackling fire and my racing thoughts.

The spot where she knelt still holds her warmth. I avoid looking at it, at the empty space she's left. Instead, I pour myself a drink, downing it in one burning gulp.

What was I thinking, letting her get so close? Letting her touch me like that? Like I'm something more than her master, her god.

Like I'm someone who knows how to...

I pour another drink. Some things are better left buried.

As I stand, going into the kitchen, her prayers drift through the door. I tell myself that I move closer to make sure she's obeying. That watching her kneel in the moonlight, head bowed and hands clasped, is about control. But her words shatter that lie.

"Please," she whispers to the night sky, "help me reach him. Let me take some of his darkness, ease his burden-"

Magic surges through my veins, violet light crackling along my skin. How dare she? I am not some wounded creature for her to fix. Not some lost soul requiring salvation.

But my body betrays me. Heat pools in my gut at her gentle words, at the way she offers herself up - not in fear or submission, but in genuine concern. My wings snap open, casting shadows across the courtyard below. She doesn't flinch, doesn't pause in her prayers.

"-show me how to break through his walls. How to ease the darkness, even when he tries to hide it-"

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