Page 63 of The City of Stardust

“This has nothing to do with him. This is aboutyou,” he snaps.

“Then you should never have given me your phone number!” she says furiously. “You could have walked away. You could have pretended you didn’t recognise me.You didn’t have to stay.”

His expression shifts, his eyebrows knotted in confusion. As though it never occurred to him that it was ever a possibility to turn away. He rubs the back of his neck, and she catches a glimpse of shame.

He says, “I—I couldn’t. I didn’t—” He swallows. “How could I let you go?”

He says it like a confession, like it’s something to feel guilty for.

She looks at him helplessly. “Then what do you want from me, Aleksander?”

He makes an agonised noise, his mouth pressed together in indecision. Somehow in the course of their argument, they’ve ended up inches from one another. Close enough for her to see the silvery glimmer of the scar above his eyebrow. Close enough for her to feel the huff of his breath against her forehead.

“I want…” he murmurs, in a husky tone that sends shivers across her whole body.

His hands glide over her shoulders, his thumb sliding achingly over her collarbone. His eyes flick to hers, and she catches the question in them. She touches the side of his face, just once.

Violet is still furious with him—she can feel it simmering underneath her skin—but there’s something else alongside it, not entirely unfamiliar. The same feeling she had every time she caught herself looking for him, every time a flash of grey eyes or dark curly hair caught her attention. The bitter disappointment afterwards because it was never him. No matter what she wished.

But here he is. Right in front of her.

And how much she wants him.

She lets herself lean into the solid warmth of his body. Lets her fingers wander across the top of his waistband, and feels his sharp intake of breath as they find the gap between his shirt and trousers.

Then he presses his mouth to hers, harsh and urgent and full of want. She tastes mint, salt. Blood. Her teeth graze his lower lip and he groans, an exquisite torture. His hands tangle in her hair, tracing little agonies across the nape of her neck. She kisses back fiercely and he groans again. She could lose herself in him.

This is a bad idea. Not while she’s upset. Not when she has no idea where she stands with him. What this means to him.

With great difficulty, she pulls away. She can feel her mussed hair, the lingering sting on her lips. He looks no better; his shirt rucks up tantalisingly, and the top button has somehow come undone. Itwould be so easy to fall back into his arms again. To let temptation consume her. She takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Aleksander,” she whispers. “We can’t.”

His hands fall away from her immediately. He steps back, but not before she catches something in his eyes. Hurt, perhaps.

“You take too much from me, Violet,” he says, and this time it sounds like an accusation. Then he shakes his head. “You’re right. This was a mistake.”

Before she can say anything else—before her anger resurfaces—he tucks his shirt back into his waistband, and it’s like nothing ever happened. His expression is a mask of harsh disapproval.

Violet wants to make him stop—to grab his arm, to push him back, to kiss him again.I give up, she wants to scream.Let me have two more weeks, and then nothing at all.

Instead, she lets him walk away, her heart hammering in her chest. Frustrated tears sear her vision.

Elandriel. Marianne. Penelope. The scholars. And now Aleksander. She is holding on to too many threads, and they’re all fraying in her fists.

Just as she thinks she might be about to break down and sob in public, someone in a shimmery gold dress hands Violet a bouquet of gold-dipped feathers. They startle her out of her anguish by pressing a kiss to her cheek. Their crown is a simple gold band that twines around their hair, black as ink.

“Erriel sends her regards,” they whisper.

Even through all of her upset, the name rings a dim bell in her head.

“Wait,” she says.

But the person is already gone, vanished into the shadows. Violet touches her cheek and comes away with dark red lipstick on her fingertips. In the dim light, it looks like blood.

CHAPTER

Thirty-Two

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