Page 98 of White Horse Black Nights

I shift her in my arms, wanting to tear my armor off so I can feel her closer.

I rest my forehead on hers, my hand still pressed to her lips.

The blacksmith’s hammer of her heart reverberates. Time stretches painfully as we remain unmoving, coupled against the wall, trying to be silent. It’s dark here, but anyone would recognize the Winged Lady’s costume and a sentinel’s armor.

Whoever the approaching people are, they turn off in the opposite direction down the northern hallway, and a sigh rolls out of me.

Sabine mumbles something against my hand, but I shake my head slowly.

“Shh, little violet. We can’t be caught.”

She wiggles her hips insistently, and I swear the damn wildcat is as aroused by the possibility of being caught as she is afraid of it.

My groin tightens again, demanding I find a private place to fuck her senseless or risk combusting.

“Don’t make a sound,” I warn. “You’re coming with me.”

Chapter31

Sabine

With one hand still clamped over my mouth, Wolf slips a small key into an unassuming door I hadn’t noticed in the shadows. It’s a servants’ door like the one in my bedroom, though this one is plain oak since it can’t blend in with the stone walls. He pulls me into a faintly lit passageway and eases the door shut, just as we hear more voices pass mere paces from where we’d been.

Once the voices fade, and silence surrounds us, he finally removes his hand.

“Rian will notice I’m gone,” I say whisper-soft, my heart knocking. “He’ll be looking for me at the party. If he catches us together . . . ”

“Leave it to me, little violet. I’ll hear if anyone comes.” His broad palm cups my cheek like a golden chalice as he leans close enough to ghost a kiss against my lips. “Just try not to scream my name too loudly when I fuck you.”

His lips claim mine greedily in a kiss before he takes my hand, interlocking our fingers, and leads me down the passageway.

Dear gods.My heart flutters like a bird lured into a trap, sensing danger but moving in anyway. What am I doing? Have I lost my mind? Basten betrayed me. He slept with a whore. I shouldn’t be here with him! But when I look at him, my resolve flits away into nothingness. Longing and need rush up to fill the void.

I hate him . . . I hate him . . . I hate him.

I also want him so painfully I’m about to shatter into pieces.

The servants’ passageway is narrow, lit by brass lamps every twenty paces, which means we’re continually plunging in and out of shadows. The walls are simple wood paneling with a muted green rug underfoot, meant to silence servants’ footsteps.

“What if a servant comes?” I say breathlessly.

“We’re alone. I’d smell someone if they were close. Everyone is in the ballroom to help with your party.”

I’m missing my own engagement party. My fiance waits by my empty chair at the high lord’s table. Well, so what? I never asked for any of it. Rian’s been pulling my strings across half of Astagnon, and it’s only fair I sever them.

Basten knows these passages by heart, which makes me wonder how often he uses them.Ishe a servant? Expected to keep out of sight with muffled footsteps, so as not to disturb the Valveres? Or does he walk the primary halls freely as Rian’s friend? I can’t figure out where he falls between the servants and the family themselves—and I’m not sure he knows, either.

He leads me down a narrow passage. Then up two flights of steep stairs. There are so many turns my head spins. I’ve completely lost my sense of direction by the time he stops to unlock another door. When he eases it open, the smell of botanical perfume greets me.

We’re in my bedroom.

“That key,” I say as he slides it back into his pocket. “Does it unlock all the doors?”

“The ones servants have access to. But don’t get any ideas.” His eyes flash a warning. He knows me well enough to realize escape is always at the forefront of my mind. I can’t help it. I’ve been imprisoned so long that my mind has carved a deep river of thought that only knows how to flow in one direction.

Moonlight streams through the tall windows. The lantern on my dressing table flickers; otherwise, it’s dark. Basten strides to the main door and locks it with the latch. Then he turns on me with a huntsman’s stalking menace. One hand goes to unbuckle the brass collar around his neck. He tugs the leather laces free, and it falls to the carpet with a muffled thud.

There’s no misinterpreting the lustful look in his eyes.

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