Page 15 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
Prowling steps bring him closer and closer to me. My throat catches, and I have to swallow down the nerves that are building in my chest. It’s all useless, though, because the Thorn King peers down on me with shifting curious attention.
“You’re blushing,” he whispers, and the warmth of his big hand slips up my neck ever so slowly, caressing my face and lingering there at the base of my jawline so he can better admire my reddening face. “You can’t look me in the eye, but you can’t look where you truly want either, can you, little fighter?” he murmurs on a gravelly tone.
Every struggling breath presses against his chest. I’m fighting for my fucking life here, and I can’t bring myself to back away from him either. I do, however, peer up into those hauntingly beautiful eyes of his.
I swallow hard when I feel the pounding of his heart beating in time with mine. The words to a single snarky remark finally find their way back into my mind, and I lift my chin a little higher. “Don’t flatter yourself, My King,” I say with a taunting smile that feels far too confident for how much of a puddle I am in this gorgeous man’s hands right now.
“I’ve never been one to flatter myself, Crymson. I have a full court for that. And now, one pretty human woman as well, it seems.”
His head dips low, and my heart stumbles right out of my chest. He’s going to kiss me. The warmth of his breath washes over my parted lips. My head tilts higher for him. My lashes flutter closed.
But the kiss never comes.
“Next time, please knock,” he whispers across my lips. He takes a full step back, and his gaze takes me in as I fully stumble forward without the steadiness of his body to support me. “Always knock, Crymson. I’d hate for you to catch me in an embarrassing situation.” He smirks and begins tugging on his pants one leg at a time, clearly dismissing me with the broad span of his wings.
“I–I had a question!” I blurt, unable to remember exactly what that question was at the moment.
“Oh?” he asks, turning toward me as he ties the top of his pants in the most ridiculously sexy way.
Like why did his forearms have to flex that hard? Calm down.
“Um... Seven!” I shout, and yeah, it’s all coming back to me now. “Why hasn’t he woken?”
His eyes narrow on me as if he’s forgotten who I am even talking about.
“He’s healing. He wasn’t in a horse-riding accident. He was bitten, Crymson. It takes time.”
“It’s been almost a week!”
He shakes his head this way and that as he sits down and pulls on a massive black boot.
“He’s not fully fae, and those things that bit him aren’t fully vampires. It’ll take him longer for his body to accept our elixir. It’ll just take time.”
Elixir?
“How much time?” My arms fold hard across my chest, and I’m really here to fight for Seven now that there are no distractions in sight.
But when he’s fully dressed—or as close to fully dressed as I’ll ever get from him—the King stands, and his stomach hardens with an unnecessary flex that pulls me right back into being a stupefied idiot again. Dammit!
He strides the span of the room, and once more, he pauses just in front of me, peering down with a look of pure concern across his hard features. Warm hands slip into mine.
“He’s going to make it, Crymson,” he whispers in a tone so soft, I didn’t know he was capable of such gentleness. “Give him time. He’ll be okay. I promise.”
I can’t stop the breath that exits my lungs as I look up into the kindest eyes that have ever looked upon me. I’m haloed in his affection. I feel the warmth of his promise down to the very tips of my toes.
I find myself rising up, my hands skimming up the hard muscle of his abdomen to rest across his chest as I lean into him. And he dips his head low once more, his dark lashes closing just as mine do. The heat of his body melds into mine. The feel of his palms against my lower back swirls demanding energy straight to my core.
Then a knock scurries across the door, wrecking through the cocoon of warmth I was just settling into. I pull back on stumbling steps.
He never moves.
We both look toward the door where a small maid stands with a broom still in hand, and I can’t help but notice how much frustration lines Thorn’s features as he waits for her to deliver whatever epic news she thought was so urgent in this moment.
“My lord, there’s a visitor.”
“Okay?” he practically grinds out. “Can you see them in?”
“Um, no, My King. It’s–it’sone of them,” she says in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.
