Page 49 of Broken Star

Good. I need a distraction. Something to focus on other than the perfect contours of Riven’s chest where the soaked fabric clings to his skin.

“Maybe there’s some spectral clothing in there for us,” I say, hurrying to the trunk before he can try anything.

It creaks as I pull it open, revealing tunics and trousers in muted colors. I pluck at the closest tunic and test its texture—soft linen, worn thin by the salt air. Seems normal enough.

“Well?” he asks, casual as can be. “Find anything that catches your interest?”

I yank the tunic out of the trunk, turn around, and thrust it at him. “Here. Put this on,” I say, and he looks back and forth from it to me, a slow up-and-down that leaves my pulse skittering.

“Careful, Sapphire. You’re staring,” he says, his brows raised in that infuriatingly confident way that makes me want to throttle him.

“Put. It. On,” I repeat, and then I stride across the room to the other door and open it, relieved when I find a bathroom.

Space. I need space right now.

Which is going to be incredibly hard to get when Riven and I are stuck together on this small, ghostly ship for gods know how long.

Sapphire

When I emergefrom the bathroom, Riven’s wearing the tunic I selected for him.

It fits him perfectly, draping across his broad shoulders, the linen clinging just enough to remind me of exactly what’s beneath it. And of course, it matches his eyes.

I glare at the ceiling.

I hate the universe.

He, of course, looks unbothered, sorting through our supplies with his usual effortless indifference.

His fingers pause over the food.

Ourvegetarianfood that was packed for us by the cloaked girl.

He glances up, silver eyes catching the low light as he studies me.

“Hungry already?” he asks, although from the way he’s looking at me, I don’t know if he’s asking me whether I’m hungry for food, or if I’m hungry forhim.

The thought alone sends a slow, curling heat through me, pooling low in my stomach like a carefully placed trap.

I should have told him to dress in an old blanket instead of something that looks like it was practically made for him.

Not like he would have listened. But still, that’s not the point.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him. “I fed this afternoon in the woods.”

“Which means we have three days for this ghost ship to take us wherever we’re going before your hunger strikes again,” he says, watching me with lazy amusement. “Three days until you start eyeing me up like a meal instead of a snack.”

My jaw tightens as a sharp pulse of heat rolls beneath my skin, the memory of his blood’s scent slamming into me like a force I can’t control.

“Absolutely not,” I say, and he studies me with heart racing intensity, clearly enjoying this.

“Notyet,”he says, and magic surges through me, a sharp burst of wind slamming into him.

He easily absorbs it.

“I don’t know why you’re so against the idea,” he says, brushing a few strands of windblown hair from his face so casually that it makes my blood boil. “Given your feral reaction when you sliced me with your dagger, I’d wager you’d enjoy it.”

I clench my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. Because he’s right. His blood smelled incredible. Rich, dark, and intoxicating, calling to me as much ashecalls to me.

---