Page 189 of Alchemised
His full attention was blistering.
“Got someone waiting for you?” he asked when she tried to sidle towards the door.
The question caught her off guard. She blinked, a lump rising in her throat.
“No,” she said.
He grinned. “Nor I. Let’s drink in celebration. What do you want?”
He went to the bar, scanning the remaining bottles.
“I think the once was enough—”
He picked up a bottle, sniffing it and holding it up in the light. “This one.”
He came over, decanter in hand, and Helena was nearly overcome with the instinct to bolt. He was intoxicated. Properly drunk, from the combination of alcohol and the euphoria of being healed.
The way he moved reminded her of a panther she’d once seen in the zoo. No bandages, no shirt. There was so much bare skin and now that she was not healing it, it was simply there.
She backed into the wall. “I’m not sure—”
“Stay,” he said softly, and his head dipped so close she felt his breath in her hair. “You know, there’s something about you, Marino, that inspires the most terrible decisions from me. I’ll know better, but then I’ll still …”
His voice trailed off as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, finger running along her jaw.
She knew she should stay. For the purpose of her mission, staying during moments like this was her job. The point of healing him. But he was so hard to predict; he was in a good mood now, but there was no knowing how long it would last.
What kind of person was Kaine Ferron without inhibition?
Her throat closed, threatening to choke her. She wanted to leave.
His thumb tilted her chin up as he stared at her through darkening eyes.
“You have such a singular mind. Even when I’m not inside it, I can still see it churning away behind those eyes of yours.”
Helena’s pulse thrummed. He pressed the decanter into her hands, and when she looked down and tried to hand it back, he took her face in both hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his stare.
His hazel-grey eyes were gone, replaced by a silver-bright glow.
This was no mere transmutation; Kaine Ferron was becoming something altogether new. She had finalised the process with her bare hands, drawn into completion something that he alone knew the entire purpose of.
“Stay,” he said, his voice coaxing, pleasure-soaked, his face so close to hers. “Have a drink with me.”
Instead of perpetually ice-sharp and guarded, he felt like something she might drown in.
“Just—one drink,” she said, her voice barely wavering.
He smiled. The first real smile she’d ever seen from him.
“One drink,” he said.
He pressed a finger beneath the decanter she held, lifting it up, and watching as she brought it to her lips.
CHAPTER 37
Julius 1786
THE ALCOHOL BURNED DOWN HELENA’S THROAT, BRIGHT and smooth, leaving an aftertaste like wood smoke on her tongue.
