Page 21 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

The chaise creaked softly as he settled, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The leather upholstery was butter-soft and warm from the afternoon sun, its rich burgundy a stark contrast to Arye’s pale skin.

“Well,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “This is… interesting. Such boldness.” His gaze raked over her, intense enough that Skylar could almost sense the heat of it against her flesh. “It’s unusual, but not entirely unpleasant.” A slow smile spread across his face, predatory and enticing. “Tell me, Sky, do you always speak to people this way?”

Skylar’s hands moved efficiently, checking Arye for injuries. She kept her touch clinical, professional, even as her heart raced beneath her ribs. The familiar routine helped ground her, allowing her to concentrate on something other than the heat she could feel through her gloves and the persistent ache in her wrist. She flexed her fingers subtly between movements, willing away the discomfort. “I’m a Duke,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tremor that threatened to overtake it. “Apart from you and His Majesty, everyone else is beneath me in rank. So yes, I’m quite accustomed to giving orders.”

“Even in their bedrooms?”

“Perhaps.” Skylar grinned, memories of past encounters flashing through her mind. She was finally herself in those moments—a woman on the hunt after men who could satisfy her hunger. Nights spent in dark inns, where she could only make out silhouettes and raven hair, imagining… She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. “I have my ways.”

A low chuckle rumbled through Arye’s chest, vibrating against Skylar’s hands as she checked his ribs. “I see,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. “And here I thought I was special.”

Skylar’s fingers faltered briefly before resuming their examination. It took all her willpower to restrain herself from pressing Arye against the chaise, climbing over him, kissing him forcefully, taking him in a way he would never expect from his childhood friend.

“You are special, Arye,” she said softly, almost to herself. The words slipped out before she could stop them, heavy with a truth she could never fully express. “More than you know.”

Silence fell as Skylar continued her inspection. Arye remained uncharacteristically quiet, allowing her to manipulate his limbs and check for hidden injuries. Only their breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Skylar moved broke the stillness.

“Should I undress further?” Arye’s voice was low, husky. There was a challenge in his tone, a dare that made Skylar’s pulse quicken. “To ensure a… thorough examination?”

Skylar’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Arye’s. The intensity she found there stole her breath away. His gray eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and there was something in his demeanor that she’d never seen before. Time seemed to stand still as she lost herself in the depths of his gaze, drowning in unspoken possibilities.

Maybe…

She cleared her throat, attempting to project calm she didn’t feel. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, inwardly cursing her breathless tone. “You appear to be uninjured.”

As she spoke, Arye’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist. His touch sent a jolt through her, a mixture of pain and something else she didn’t dare name. She bit back a gasp, unsure if it was from discomfort or the electricity of his skin against hers.

“You’re hurt,” he said, eyes narrowing as he examined her wrist. His grip became impossibly gentle. “It’s swollen.”

Skylar followed his gaze, noticing for the first time the tear in her glove. Arye carefully peeled the soft leather away, revealing the full extent of the damage—red, puffy skin that looked worse than she’d realized. Now that her attention was drawn to it, the dull throb of pain radiating up her arm became impossible to ignore. She’d been so focused on Arye, on controlling her own reactions, that she’d pushed aside the discomfort of her own injury.

“It’s nothing,” she tried to dismiss, attempting to pull her hand back. But Arye’s grip remained firm, his skin warm against hers.

Before she could protest further, he was on his feet, guiding her toward his bed. The mattress loomed before her, a vast expanse of crisp white sheets and plush pillows. It looked impossibly soft and inviting, and Skylar had to resist the urge to sink into it.

With his free hand, Arye yanked open a drawer in his bedside table, retrieving a roll of clean bandages. In the dimness of the room, the linen seemed to glow.

“You keep medical supplies in your bedroom?” Skylar asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why not simply call for a physician?”

A roguish grin spread across Arye’s face, transforming his features. His eyes sparkled with youthful mischief, reminiscent of the boy she’d grown up with rather than the burdened prince he’d become. “Sometimes it’s faster this way,” he said with a wink. “Besides, you never know when you might need to… restrain someone.”

Heat flooded Skylar’s cheeks, her mind conjuring images she desperately tried to push aside. “Oh?” she managed, aiming for a teasing tone. “Is that what you’re into, Arye?”

His laugh was rich and warm, filling the room and sending pleasant shivers down Skylar’s spine. “Perhaps,” he said, eyes glinting with mischief. “Care to find out?”

Before Skylar could respond, Arye gently pushed her to sit on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, soft and inviting. She resisted the urge to lean back, to allow herself to be enveloped by sheets that carried Arye’s scent.

With surprising tenderness, Arye began tending to her injured wrist. His touch was feather-light as he cleaned the abrasion, his fingers leaving trails of fire on her skin. The cool, damp cloth he used to clean the wound contrasted sharply with the warmth of his hands. Skylar watched, mesmerized, as he worked. This side of Arye—gentle, attentive—was one she rarely saw. It made her heart ache with longing for something she could never have.

“I’ll send a healer to your quarters,” Arye murmured, focused on her wrist.

“I can take care of myself,” she asserted, though her voice lacked conviction. Part of her wanted to pull away, to maintain the careful distance she’d always kept between them. But a larger part reveled in his touch, savoring every moment of this stolen intimacy.

Arye’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, captivatingly dark. “I know,” he said, his voice a low, intimate growl. “But I prefer to ensure what’s mine remains… unmarred.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down Skylar’s spine. His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. She searched his face, trying to decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes. Mine? Surely he couldn’t…

No. She couldn’t allow herself to hope. Even if he did like her, liked men in general, it would be an awkward situation once he found out. He must mean her being one of his loyal subjects. His friend. Nothing more.

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