Page 67 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

Rolling my eyes to conceal my horror at being discovered so easily, I leaned back in my seat to create some semblance of distance between us because he was still kneeling between my legs. Somehow, it only made it much worse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I huffed, trying to distract myself.

“Oh, so you just wanted to watch me squirm?” Wren arched a golden eyebrow, his hair windswept across his face. “In that case, tell me, is there anything else you’d like to watch me do?” Without breaking eye contact, he braced his forearms on my thighs and let his hands dangle suggestively between my legs.

Something wicked and made of fire woke up inside of me.

It wasn’t magic this time; it was worse. The budding sparks of electricity caressed my nerves, linking to his hands,their proximity, and his every tiny movement, and I frantically reached for the main switch to shut them all down.

If he did touch me in that particular moment, I had no idea what I would do.How would I react? Would Ilikeit?

I crossed my arms over my chest because I did not dare move my legs. I was trapped. My scent—my stupid, stupid scent—was going to be my doom in Faerie. The one thing I couldn’t control, and he was so close…

Wren’s eyes travelled to my folded arms, and then lower.

“You disgust me.”

“Your sharp little tongue can lie,” he murmured, sliding his arms off my thighs with borderline unwillingness, and the knowing glint in his eyes completed the rest of the sentence.But the rest of your body cannot.

I squirmed, lifting one leg, and kicked him in the chest. It was gentle enough to push him away from me, to avert his face from where it was inclined towards a part of my body I was still trying to bring back under my control.

Wren laughed and leaned back on his hands. “Oh, relax. It’s not the first time. It happened when I was teaching you to ride my…” He trailed off, a sinful smile taking shape across his full mouth as I forced myself to keep my eyes on his face. “Horse,” he finished.

And, just like that, I wished that I’d let him become afternoon tea for the caenim.

“Where’s Lucais?” I enquired politely, and the scowl that followed the death of Wren’s smirk told me he understood why I’d asked.

I was still his High King’s mate, bonded or not.

“Everyone went to the field. They’re on their way back now.”

“How come you found me first?”

“You forget,” he started to say, as he climbed to his feet and brushed the dust from his pants. “I spent two days with the salt from your sweat and tears stuffed up my nose. I’ve become accustomed to you. It didn’t take long. Especially not with the trace of your magic lining a path from the disaster in your bathroom to the disaster in that field. Are you seeing a pattern here, Aura?”

Bringing my legs up onto my seat, I curled into a ball and resisted the urge to start rocking back and forth. “I do not want to talk about that.”

Yes, I had a pattern. I had a pattern that I was doing everything I could to break.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” Wren offered, his tone toeing the edge of gentleness.

I scoffed. “Not this time, at least.”

But I had come close to it again if I’d had anything to do with Delia’s hair.

Something had escaped from me—like magic, but worse—and it would never, ever happen again. I would not acknowledge it. I would not accept anyone else’s acknowledgement of it, either.

Wren’s inquisitive stare coaxed my eyes up to meet his, but before I could fabricate a response that wouldn’t condemn me, Lucais appeared in the middle of the room in a blur of red and gold.

The High King’s wide eyes fell on Wren first, and he said, a little breathlessly, “I really wish you hadn’t struck Hanson.”

My heart stopped.

I was in trouble.

Of course I’m in trouble; I almost let the High King of Faerie’s best friend and right-hand man die. On purpose. Whether or not he was also willing to let it happen is an entirely different matter. There is no apology in theworld—

Lucais’s eyes settled on my face, and his eyes went wide, as if he didn’t realise that I was in there. A soft sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped forward. “I would have liked to do it myself,” he finished quietly.

For a moment, I stared at him—the High King of Faerie, the man from my dreams.

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