Page 40 of Cursed Shadows 2

Then—whatever is happening behind me—stirs a growl deep in Daxeel’s chest. I feel it rumble at my shoulder.

“If you want to lose your fucking jaw,” his words are a throaty, savage warning he aims at who I guess to be Prit.

Suppose I’m the closest halfling to the table.

Rune scoffs into the bottle he drinks from.

And Prit apparently decides against the challenge of Daxeel.

I look up at him, at my dark one; the hard line of his clenched jaw, at the caramel tone of his skin made darker by the dim light of the Hall. His leathers are somewhat different today. Like the general, he wears a black vest that moulds tothe defined lines of his muscular chest, and the leather makes me think of an inky stream running over boulders and stone.

Part of me itches to reach out, dance my fingertips down his chest, feel every curve of muscle tense at my touch. I ache to graze my palm along his solid honeyed arms, over the weapons belts strapped around his biceps.

But I think he wouldn’t welcome my touch, not right now, here, in front of everyone.

My mouth flattens and I turn my cheek to Daxeel.

Eamon’s gaze snares mine.

We share a moment, silent worries, and thoughts in our eyes.

Do you see, Eamon?

Do you see how far I’ve gotten with him already, how much closer I am to my final goal with the one I love?

I’ve come such a long way from the earlier days here when he would only spare me a glance but keep his distance, and any words he might have spoken to me were insults of my insignificance.

It’s all getting so raw now. But before I can build any flesh around our love, then reform the steel armour it once had, I have more work to do.

I bring the honeywine to my lips, and just as I take a swig, a rocky snore comes from my left.

Aleana is passed out on the other side of the couch, her mouth parted around gravelly breaths. The hem of her floaty black dress is ruffled, but the plum purple of her corset rises and falls with her steady breaths, and I think it a wonder she can breathe.

My mouth quirks at the corner. I’m not a snorer myself, but it would be a lie to say I haven’t woken in some drool before.

Eamon’s sigh isn’t annoyed but exhausted as he pushes up from the armchair, then tucks his book into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll get her home.”

First, he comes straight to me. The instinctual smile steals my lips as he plants his goodbye kiss on my temple.

“Behave,” he tells me as he makes for Aleana, but it’s ahalf-hearted command, one he knows I won’t obey, and one he’s just too tired to care much about.

He scoops Aleana’s small frame off the couch like she weighs little more than a feather. Then he’s gone—and I’m suddenly aware that I’m alone with Daxeel and his friends. Neither Samick or Rune are actually my friends, and that has never felt more obvious to me than it does in this moment.

My face is blank as I turn to look at each of them.

Rune watches the game over the back of the couch with mild interest, but not enough to leave the warmth of the fireplace and join. He is dry, finally.

Samick has cleaned all his stars, patched them away in their holsters and straps, and has taken to smoking grimroot. He sinks into the armchair Eamon occupied. The fireflies still play dead.

And neither of them look at me like I’m not supposed to be here.

Finally, I look up at Daxeel.

He doesn’t move away from me.

Instead, I watch as he shifts onto the edge of the couch, stretching out his arm to rest his hand on the couch’s spine at the nape of my neck. His stance is almost relaxed, but I know he only sticks close to me to protect me from the game.

No, not protect,shieldme—for his own benefit. This isn’t powered by love, it’s the need to claim his possession, it is evate.

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