Page 113 of Fear the Flames
I loop my arm through Cayden’s and spin on my heels to where his eyes point. Ryder plays the part of a perfect Imirath soldier watching over the ball. His white armor is slightly large on him, but not large enough to draw attention. He stands between a cushioned bench and an archway that leads to a candlelit hallway. Cayden and I offer our spot on the dance floor to a couple waiting their turn. We take our time walking toward him while more dancing begins behind us. Adrenaline rises in my veins in tandem with the rising music. My need for blood plucks me like a musician’s skilled fingers pluck their instruments.
I take a seat on the bench, and Cayden kneels in front of me while taking my boot-covered ankle in his hand, low enough that nobody will be able to see I’m not wearing the proper shoes. “So clumsy,” he chastises. “Guard, my wife seems to have twisted her ankle while dancing. Would you mind looking at it?”
Ryder moves from his spot by the wall and kneels beside Cayden in front of me. “You’re a very lucky man to have a wife as beautiful as her,” Ryder smirks while reaching a hand toward my ankle. I suppress the urge to kick him in his smug face. If I blinked, I would have missed Ryder effortlessly slipping the key into Cayden’s hand behind my boot.
“There’s a staircase to the right of this archway. Saskia and Finnian are waiting for me by the canal. They should have secured a boat by now,” Ryder says so quickly it’s hard to decipher his words. “Don’t be an idiot,” he mutters to Cayden.
“Don’t die,” Cayden mutters to Ryder. A small smile makes its way to my face, despite the morbidity of their statements. It reminds me of Finnian and me.
“Stay safe, Atarah,” Ryder looks up at me. “You still owe me a dragon tingle update when all this shit is over, and I still owe you a drink. You can’t die with debts, it’s a bad look for the soul.”
“What the fuck is a dragon tingle?” Cayden inquires.
“You wouldn’t get it,” Ryder waves Cayden off.
“I’ll see you soon, Neredras,” I smile down at him.
“She seems fine to me. Just give her a few moments of rest, and she’ll be back to the merriment of the evening,” Ryder raises his voice while getting to his feet. I stare up at his towering frame from the bench, at one of the faces that have become a welcomed sight these past few months. He takes one last look at the both of us before backing away and slipping through the archway. I strain my ears to listen for any signs of strife while Cayden gets to his feet, but the only sounds I hear are his boots getting farther away.
Cayden extends a hand to me, which I accept, “Are you ready for revenge, angel?”
“Always, soldier.”
ChapterForty-Seven
We slip from the ballroom and find the staircase Ryder mentioned. It’s clearly only used by guards and servants. Cobwebs cling to the corners of the ceiling, and the faint smell of dust lingers in the air around us. The both of us rip off our masks and toss them on the floor.
“I need you to untie my corset,” I tell Cayden, turning to face the wall.
“So forward,” he jests. “If you wanted to ravish me, I wish you would have spoken earlier.”
“Just for once, would you lessen the vexation of your company to a manageable level?” I hiss.
“I recall a few things you like.” I can’t see his face, but I’m sure it’s smug, just as he can’t see me roll my eyes, but he knows I did.
He pulls on the bow Saskia tied for me and begins loosening my bodice. I pull on the corset to loosen it further, but my efforts pause when I hear footsteps approaching the door at the top of the staircase. Cayden mutters a curse under his breath as I try to filter through the tulle surrounding my legs to find a knife. Cayden’s throwing knives are under his suit pants, he can’t get to them, and I can’t get to mine. He can’t use his sword; the person approaching will come through the door before Cayden can get to the top.
Cayden yanks me upright and presses my back into the wall. “Trust me,” he pleads, slamming his lips onto mine. I shriek in surprise, and he presses his body into me. One of his hands grips my hip, keeping my corset from slipping down and exposing my leathers. The door at the top of the stairs opens and falls shut behind someone. I slide my hands into Cayden’s hair and hum against his lips. It’s my way of telling him I’ll play along. Whatever this madness is. His tongue slides into my mouth, and the familiar pounding sensation arises between my legs. As if he knows, he shoves his knee between my thighs, offering me a little pressure.
“Come on, the two of you, off each other,” the guard sighs.
We ignore him, and I grind down onto Cayden’s leg. He groans in approval while forcing his body even closer to mine. I realize he’s completely blocking me from the guard that now descends the stairs. His hand slowly slides up my leg that’s furthest from the guard, and I feel him slip a knife from my holster. A moan slips from my lips before I can stop it. He strokes a thumb over my thigh, and I can practically taste his praise. I bite his bottom lip to tease him, and he groans another delicious, deep rumble. He presses me so tightly between him and the wall that the dampness of the corridor seeps through both corsets I’m wearing.
“Do I have to pry you two off each other?” the guard asks as he takes his last step off the staircase and strides over to us. I don’t remove my mouth from Cayden’s when the guard touches his shoulder.
With incredible speed, Cayden flips the knife from the hand on my thigh to the hand that’s holding my corset and jams it into the guard’s throat without ever taking his lips from mine. The sound of gurgling blood fills the corridor, but Cayden doesn’t pull his lips away until the guard falls to the floor. He steps back and pulls his knee from between my legs.
“People assume consensual public displays of affection have no ulterior motives,” he pants while bending to retrieve my knife from the guard’s throat. “I knew the guard would lose sense and approach us despite logic. If we weren’t kissing, then he would have thought we were sneaking around, and he could have alerted someone on the opposite side of the door.” His tone is rough and raspy. Cayden wipes the guard’s blood on his suit jacket before straightening up and pressing the hilt into my palm.
“Yes,” I say through my hazy brain, “of course.”
“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Well, I’d rather kiss you than die,” I shrug. “Don’t let it inflate your ego too much, soldier.”
“I knew I’d grow on you,” he grins.
I wrap my hand around the hilt of my knife and resume slipping out of my dress. Cayden unwraps his sword from his waist and removes his suit. Honestly, it was good thinking on his part. We wouldn’t have been able to charge the guard from down here. I thread my arms through my leathers and glide my hands over my knives. My eyes glance at the dead guard and notice how many weapons he has. I unhook one of the swords from his belt. It’s larger and heavier than my swords, but it’s better than nothing. Cayden squats beside me and takes the other two swords from the guard, strapping another on his waist and settling the broad sword on his back. The leather strap rests diagonally across his chest, but he keeps the sword in his hand. I unsheathe my new sword after getting to my feet and kick my dress over the guard. If we’re lucky, nobody will look too closely at our discarded clothes, but we don’t have many places to hide a body—and we certainly don’t have time.
