Page 40 of Cursed Dreams
Her breath came faster, her skin prickling with awareness.
She should leave.
She should absolutely leave.
And yet, she found herself frozen in place, because gods, she wanted to see what would happen if she didn’t.
Thalia felt heat rush through her veins, like an inferno, bold and reckless, burning away every thought except one, him.
The alcohol made her fearless, made her needy, made her crave the wicked promise in Vaelith’s eyes.
She leaned in closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, and with a slow, teasing purr, she whispered:
“One… two… three… four…”
Vaelith’s gaze darkened, his silver eyes melting into something deeper, something dangerous, a shade that looked almost like molten gold. The flickering candlelight of the tavern caught in them, making them burn, making him look like a creature out of legend, out of nightmares and dreams alike.
His smirk was slow, wicked, and full of intent.
“Five.”
Before she could breathe, shadows engulfed her.
A rush of darkness, cold, swift, disorienting, like falling and flying at the same time. She gasped, but her breath never found purchase. The world blurred, twisting, shifting, and the only constant was Vaelith.
His arms, strong, unyielding, locked around her. His glowing, predatory gaze never wavered, never strayed from hers.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, they were outside.
An alleyway.
The night air was cool against her flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire roaring inside her.
Before she could gather her bearings, she was pinned.
Pinned against the rough stone wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her dress bunched at her thighs, his body, hard, hot, overwhelming, pressed flush against hers.
She gasped at the feeling of his muscles, the sheer strength in him, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. The scrape of the wall at her back only heightened the sensation of him, all muscle and heat and tension, holding her there like he could shatter her if he let go.
His white-silver hair fell around them in wild, tousled strands, framing his sharp, inhumanly beautiful face. The strands caught the dim light of the moon, making him look almost ethereal, like some untamed god who had stepped straight out of an old text.
“Thalia,” he warned, his voice gravelly, strained, his forehead dropping to hers. “I barely have control of myself this close to Solstice.”
Solstice?
The name flickered in her mind, a brief moment of confusion. But then his scent, his warmth, the feel of him drowned out everything else.
Because he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole.
Then his mouth was on hers.
Not gentle. Not soft.
It was fire and hunger and pure, unrelenting need.
Thalia gasped into his kiss, but he took the sound, took everything, his lips slanting over hers, his tongue licking into her mouth, teasing, claiming.
She matched him, heat surging between them, her hands sliding up into his thick, white-silver hair, tugging slightly, making him growl against her lips.
