Page 70 of Of Song and Scepter
Chapter forty-one
Soren
The farther she runsfrom me, the more I crave her presence, the more my need intensifies to hold her in my arms. To explain away that fear in her eyes just now. I spent the whole godsdamn evening wishing for her touch, admiring her from a distance, making sure she was safe, and now she’s running. Away fromme.
What did I do?
I follow through the window after her. The moment of freefall piques my adrenaline, and my feet connect with the ground. Before me, Enna sprints down the spiraling streets of the keep, heading toward the sea.
I sever my seeking spell, conserving my energy. She underestimates my determination. She may be faster, but I am powerful and steady, and she won’t outrun me for long. There’sonly so far she can go, and even in the sea, I will find her. I will make this right, whatever it is. An hour ago, I thought I’d lost her. I will not let her out of my sight now. I sprint toward her, muscles warming, legs pumping, thrilling at the chase.
Enna should not be afraid of me. How could she, when I feel as though I might suffocate without her presence in a room? I am irrevocably, inevitably intertwined with her. The princess is a clingerfish on my arm; Enna is the force behind my tides. Where she goes, I follow, and as she curves down the keep, I make good on that promise.
Ahead, Enna darts around the bend in the path, ducking into the vendors’ sector. She tests the doors, rattling the knobs. She looks over her shoulder as I turn the corner, her violet eyes catching the light of the moon. She pushes off a locked door, bolting down the street once more.
I round the next bend, nearly running into a loose pile of barrels in the street. Skirting right, I dodge one in time to avoid it rolling into my legs. I grunt, then grin. I’ve been thinking Aris isn’t challenging enough—here’s my challenge, and she’s toppling a table of wares. Strings of beaded jewelry scatter. I leap over them, feet pounding hard as I push my body faster. The distance between us narrows. The silver tail of her dress flutters in the wind.
At the next turn, she hesitates before an alley that opens to the right. She takes it, tucking out of the main road. Got her! I slow my pace to a jog, ready for the moment she realizes her mistake in taking a dead-end road.
I cluck my tongue, and she flashes a glare at me before dragging her gaze up the wall.
“No way out, Wicked.”
Her hands roam over the surface of the wall, caressing the flat stone in much the same way those hands ran over my chest this morning, and a pang of desire stabs through my gut. I approachher slowly, lifting my hands in a gesture of surrender, even as I move to entrap her against the wall.
I will not let her go this time. My hands land on either side of her head, the heat of her body warming my skin through the thin silk of my shirt. If I inch a bit closer, her bottom will brush against my lap. My breath skims across her bare shoulder, the speckle of silver scales lifting at the touch of air.
“You ran from me,” I whisper. “Why?” Between two fingers, I catch a stray strand of her hair. Her throat bobs as she swallows.
Then, quicker than I can follow, she launches herself up the side of the wall. Her long, black claws dig into the stone, creaking and scraping until she scales the top. Too late, my hands close around empty air. She squats, peering at me, her expression guarded.
No. She cannot escape me. I will not allow it. I stir my magic, Voicing my intent, aiming for her waist. She tucks and rolls along the wall, evading the threads of magic. With a growl, I send them after her. I snare her middle, pulling her into the air and lowering her slowly. She thrashes in my grip, humming furiously, as her own magic pushes against mine, crackling with light. I press harder. She settles at my feet once more, and I grin.
“There. That wasn’t so hard,” I say. Sand dusts the crest of her pale cheek. I reach to clear it. “Are you afraid of me, Wicked?”
“Let me go,” she whispers.
“If I do, will you run again?”
She snarls, ducking under my arm. I catch the tail of her skirts and yank. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I tuck her body into mine, molding her into the place she fits so effortlessly beneath my chin. Like a missing piece, finally clicking into place.
“There is nowhere you can go that I will not find you, Wicked. Even if you flee to the depths of the sea, I will follow.”
Her wild scent fills my nose, intoxicating me, mind and body. I pull her earlobe between my lips, and a shiver pulses through her.
My fingers trail the length of her arm, skimming the satin of her glove. Taking her hand, I place it on my shoulder, tightening my arm around her waist. I find the deep V of her dress, pressing my fingers into the smooth skin of her back. A gasp escapes her. My legs shift, swaying her to an invisible beat.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. Her feet move, hesitant steps on the stone.
“Dancing.”
Her hand curls into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Dancing?”
I hum my pleasure, her rough touch sending a zing of desire through my body. “I watched you all night, Wicked. Standing there alone. And all I wanted to do was take you into my arms, just like this.”
“There’s no music,” she says. But she finds the rhythm easily. Our bodies move to the silent music in a perfect synchrony. Her skirt swishes across the stone with a hush of silk, mixing with sand and stone. My fingers trail a lazy pattern on her back, and her scales rise to meet my touch.
“Isn’t there?” I murmur, closing my eyes. My heart feels as if it might explode in my chest. I scatter a dozen kisses across her hairline. One for each time I lost sight of her tonight.
