Page 17 of The Sorcerer's Thief
“Willowood. You know it?”
“I do. Name’s Cricket.” I offer my wrist.
We clasp forearms. “My thanks, Cricket. Which road from here?”
A flicker of annoyance that he didn’t share his name passes over me, but I ignore it and give him the directions he seeks. “Staying for the night?”
“Can’t. Will be on my way after a drink.”
“Safe travels to you.”
“And you.”
The barkeep returns with all three mugs of ale. I pay for our dinners and drinks, along with the stranger’s drink, then head back to Julian.
Surprise, surprise, he’s glowering like I ate his last sweet treat. I set down the mugs, and he grabs his and throws half the pint back without pausing for breath, throat undulating with each gulp.
I keep my voice low. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He licks the foam from his upper lip. “I’m not.”
“Is that fae at the bar why you need a disguise?”
“In part.”
“You know him?”
“Forice?”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes, and not really.”
“You know his name, but you don’t really know him?”
I wait for more, but none is forthcoming.
Julian’s a riddle tangled in a mystery.
I tell myself not to worry about him. Julian is not for me to solve. He’s for me to abandon. Soon. “You are a constant source of irritation.”
“You know how to get rid of me.” His wide smile flashes white teeth, and he drops his gaze to my chest before connecting with mine.
His eyes, at least, are the same emerald green as before. The baby soft grain of his skin is so at odds with the years of strife lingering in his hard glare. I want his real face back. The lines, the crow’s feet, the imperfections of pores and ruddiness.
“You’re staring.”
“So are you.” I wet my mouth and track his gaze as it follows my tongue.
“You’re pretty. Foul tempered and disagreeable, but not so terrible to look at. Why shouldn’t I stare?”
Warmth stirs between my legs. His words send my thoughts racing. What would Julian be like as a lover? Overly polite and civil? As he is to me now?
Or…does the fire in him burn hot between the sheets? Would he tug my hair? Take what he needs from my body? Slap my?—
“Have I discovered your weakness? Is it flattery? In that case, you should know your ass is like two ripe melons begging to be squeezed. Juicy and plump. How they would shine as oil is massaged between?—”
“Shut up.” My cheeks heat. “Someone will hear.”
