Page 113 of Heat of the Everflame

His dark timbre had my blood chilling in my veins. Never had a simple question seemed so much like a drawn blade.

His eyes met mine, pitch black and pulsing with ire. “You think what just happened was me...servingyou? Because you’re Queen?That I made you come because—what, Diem, I’m just your fucking advisor?”

A blush of shame burst across my cheeks at the disgust snarling his features. ButIwas the one with the right to be angry, not him.

I forced my back straighter. “What else am I supposed to think? You seem to have no interest in me reciprocating.”

He glared at me for a long moment. Veins popped beneath his skin, his body seeming to vibrate with the effort of holding back.

I shrugged, trying my best to look unbothered, even as my heart collapsed. “If you don’t desire me, just be honest. I’m a grown woman. I can take it.”

“Desire?”

His voice was whisper-soft, dangerous, rumbling with the ominous promise of a blow about to be unleashed.

“You think I do notdesireyou?”

My cheeks felt hot. “In Arboros, I thought... what we said to each other...” I swallowed thickly. “But now you’re pushing me away, so I—”

He crossed the room in a split second, a snarl ripping out of him. In a blur of motion he had me pinned against the wall, one hand clenched around my neck, trapping me at his mercy. The other hooked behind my knee to open my thighs as he ground his hips forward with near-bruising force. The hard ridge of his arousal was undeniable where it strained against his trousers and dug into the still-tender flesh between my legs.

“Doesthisfeel like I do notdesireyou?” he hissed.

Something between a gasp and a moan slipped out as a darker, more primal kind of pleasure split through me. The ferocious bite in his voice, his dominating grip on my body, the ruthless savagery in his eyes. This was no measured, guarded Prince. This was Luther at his core, raw and out of control.

He forced my chin up and tipped his mouth to mine. “I did not know what it was toneeduntil I met you. One look from you—just the fucking sound of your voice—and my cock gets hard. One touch of your skin, and I can barely think beyond dragging you into the nearest bed. Every second I’m notinsideyou is another wasted moment of my miserable life.”

His fingers tightened on my throat—not enough to hurt, just to send my pulse hammering. If I had any sense at all, I might have been scared, but the energy tingling at the peak of my thighs was giving a very different response.

“There is no place in all of existence I would rather be than between your legs, and there’s no part of you I do not long to consume. With my eyes.” His gaze dropped brazenly to my chest. “With my hands.” He squeezed my breast in his palm, kneading the sensitive point until I gasped. “With my mouth.” He kissed me, harsh and insatiable, his tongue sweeping greedily over mine.

When he had reduced me to a mewling, quivering puddle, he released me and took a step back. The loss of his touch was an agony, but his lethal focus still had me entirely in his hold.

“It is not just my body that craves you, Diem. It is my heart.” He clutched at his chest. “My scarred, ruined scrap of a soul. Your smiles, your affection, the way you look at me, the way youseeme... that is my lifeblood. I would sooner wither without food or water, sink into the sea until my lungs burst, abandon my magic and let my godhood burn me alive from within than endure one more day of life without you in it.”

Suddenly, his magic sparked back to life, and its potent presence flooded the room. It swirled in the air and encircled my skin, and my godhood crooned in eager response, undaunted by the wrath thrumming in its ferocious energy. I fumbled for breath, suffocated by the mix of his aura and his powerful words.

“Desire?” He gave a dark, throaty laugh. “Desire is a pathetic word for what I feel for you. I require you. I am sustained by you.You are the flame that fuels my fire. Don’t you dare question that—not for a second.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?” I whispered.

He went preternaturally still. Slowly, almost too subtly to notice, the fury faded from his features, replaced by an emotion I couldn’t interpret. Wisps of light and shadow cracked in the icy blue pools of his eyes. I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to take me to bed or take off running.

I wasn’t sureheknew, either.

I pushed off the wall, hating the way his muscles bunched as if preparing for an attack. I stood in front of him, close enough to touch but not doing so. Not yet.

I started with his hands—innocent, simple. A slight brush of our knuckles. My finger, hooked around his. A reassuring squeeze.

Patiently, I waited for him to react. He stared at our joined hands, but he didn’t move.

My hands lifted to his face. I swept my fingers across his sharp cheekbones, his full lips, his broad, angular jaw. I traced the lines of his scar, smiling when he closed his eyes so I could follow its trail across his eyelids.

I raked my nails through the coarse stubble that darkened his jawline, winning a grunt of pleasure from him that emboldened me to keep going.

When my touch moved to his neck, shadows seeped from his palms. They pooled at our feet, then began climbing up the walls. They snuffed out the scattered candles and smothered the light-crafted flowers. Even the faint glow from his eyes disappeared as he closed them, turning the room to moonless night.

Darkness for my touch—these were his terms of engagement. This moment seemed too fragile, too important, to question it aloud.

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