Page 67 of A Curse of Salt

His lips twisted. ‘Couldn’t sleep either,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I wanted to see – wanted to make sure you were all right.’

I swallowed, remembering the last time I’d seen him, spattered with my blood. Una’s voice crept into my mind but I pushed it away. He was different in this light – cold and blue yet softened by the rain. He stood as imposing as ever, but half-dressed, almost . . . uncertain.

Sebastien raked a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his shoulders, the light of the moon caught in his endless eyes. I could feel my heart in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

I shouldn’t be here. I knew that already, but here I was. Searching for something I couldn’t name, a feeling he’d stirred in me, something halfway between shadow and fire.

I moved slowly towards the desk, my fingers reaching for the swath of dark green velvet that covered it. I watched his reflection in the windows as he stilled, tensing as though he was watching my every move.

Curious, my hand curled around the material and tugged. The fabric fell away to reveal the mirror beneath, sending candlelight bouncing back to stroke my face.

He was on me in a flash, grabbing my arm and spinning me from the gilt looking-glass. ‘What are you doing?’

I stared up at him. What would I have done, I wondered, if my own gaze had been black, rather than gold? Would I, too, have hidden from my own emptiness?

‘What are you so afraid of?’ I whispered.

I measured the waning anger in that coal-black gaze, wondering what I looked like through eyes that dark. If the shadows blinded him, the way they did me. But they couldn’t have: he was looking at me like he could see all the way through to my soul.

‘You tell me you can’t change, but you saved my life,’ I pointed out. ‘Twice.’

His voice was quiet. ‘You saved yourself.’

Almost. But he’d saved me in more ways than one last night. I sighed, my temper shifting like sand. ‘Answer my question. What are you so afraid of?’

His hand slid across my uninjured shoulder, moving to rest at the base of my neck. My mouth went dry as his thumb whispered up the column of my throat. Goosebumps bloomed outward from his touch.

‘I told you,’ he said at last. ‘You.’

‘Don’t mock me.’

But it wasn’t derision I saw in his eyes, nor the cold gleam of the moon. There was something hot, something dangerous, simmering in them. A fire that coursed through him. Blood pounding, scorching, in rhythm with my own.

I knew the answer. This was what scared him. Letting me see it.

His grip tightened and I inhaled. My heart thrilled, afraid he’d kiss me – terrified he wouldn’t. I leaned in. He must’ve seen the trust in my eyes, felt the danger stirring in the murkiness between us, because when my parted lips grazed expectantly against his, Sebastien pulled back.

‘Ria—’

I closed the gap, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling the Heartless King’s mouth down to mine. Heat flared in my stomach as he melted into the kiss, teeth grazing my tongue. My fists curled around the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer.

His fingers wound into my hair in response, stubble scraping my cheeks, my chin, reigniting the flames he’d lit inside me last night.

I pulled back for a second, panting, and when I looked up, my breathing faltered. Faltered, because for a moment, I’d expected the man whose kiss I craved like the sea to be full of something other than darkness.

I held his gaze, my chest rising and falling rapidly against his. Sebastien’s grip softened at my hesitation. ‘Still want me?’ he whispered.

My breath quickened. ‘Yes.’ So badly.

‘Good.’ He closed the gap, crashing our mouths together. There was a groan on my lips, but I didn’t know if it was his or mine.

Sebastien’s hands slid down to grip my thighs and I gasped as he lifted me on to the desk, pushing me backwards. I slammed into the mirror, feeling its surface fracture behind me. Pain bloomed in my shoulder as the impact tore through my wound.

Sebastien swore. ‘Blackbird,’ he muttered, pulling his hand away from my back, palm flecked with scarlet. He cursed again. ‘I’m sorry.’

I wasn’t. I craned my neck to peer at my blood-spattered reflection in the mirror, seeing the bright red seeping through my chemise where some of my stitches had reopened. But the pain was fleeting, mingling with the heat already knotted in my veins. He’d set something alight in me and I wasn’t ready to let it burn out.

‘Since when were you afraid of spilling a little blood?’ I challenged.

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