Page 93 of Blackthorn

“How did you escape?” she asked, handing him a glass.

“Secret tunnel,” he said, like it was obvious. “I left with those who wished to leave. They were evacuated with enough supplies to last until we reached shelter. Those who didn’t want to face the cruelty of the mountains in winter stayed, hoping the army had more mercy than the mountains.”

“I hope so, too.” Her hike down the mountain on snowshoes had been exhausting.

“Once the Black Gate was finally breached, I was nowhere to be found. I assume the army declared me dead rather than admit I slipped away.” He drained the glass. “I modified my appearance, changed clothes, and left Lord Draven behind.”

“Any word about your brother?”

Draven shook his head. “I searched. I found tracks, but no.”

“I hope he’s well.” She liked Hal, even if she only knew him for a day. “What about everyone else? Orianne? Lemoine?”

“Lemoine wanted to follow me, but I refused.” He gave a weary sigh. “It’s hard to travel incognito when she refuses to stop calling me Lord Draven. I gave her a fortune as compensation. For her flaws, she was loyal.”

Charlotte picked at a piece of lint on his coat collar. She wasn’t sad he ditched Lemoine, but she felt sympathy for the woman who had been utterly devoted to Draven. She said, “In all fairness, it’s not a very good disguise.”

“It worked. It brought me here to you.”

The atmosphere changed between them. An exhilarating charge replaced the fraught elation of reunion. Emotions were still high, but this was needier. Hungry. It demanded touch and skin and blood. Charlotte needed to know that he was alive and so was she. She needed to feel him. Devour him.

He grinned, revealing the slightest hint of fang. Judging from the gleam in his eye, he felt the same as she.

“Draven, what are we going to do? You’ll attract too much attention, and I can’t hide you here,” she said. Parting again was out of the question.

“That is a concern,” he said, dipping his head in a nod. His hair was just long enough to flop forward into his eyes. “I heard that your late husband had an impressive collection.”

“Did you?”

Draven stalked forward. Charlotte took a step back, slowly retreating until she bumped against the desk.

“All manner of things. Books and artifacts. If you require assistance with the collection, I’m happy to provide,” he said, his voice low.

“And what type of assistance can you provide?” Charlotte opened her knees wide enough for him to stand against her. His hips rocked forward, demonstrating what he had in mind. How fortunate she had the same notion.

“Shall I list my experience and give you my references?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “I have several years’ experience curating a private library and collection of notable historic relics.”

“I’ve sold most of the relics,” she said.

“A shame.” He placed a kiss along her jaw and continued down the column of her throat. He licked the location of her artery but continued downward to the swell of her bosom. “I’m sure you’re in need of a librarian. A scholar like yourself will have no time to catalog the collection and see to new acquisitions.”

He pushed up the fabric of her skirts and skimmed his hands along her thighs.

“Sir,” she said in a playful tone. “I don’t know what kind of library you think this is if you believe I cavort with my employees.”

“That’s a shame.” He licked his lips. “I was rather hoping you did.”

She held out her arm, her wrist exposed. “If you need me, you don’t have to ask.”

Draven licked his lips but shook his head. “That is too noticeable. As much as I would love to mark you as mine, that would draw the wrong attention.”

“I won’t let you starve.”

Draven kneeled before and pushed up her skirts. His fingers brushed along her inner thigh. “Here. Inconspicuous, and if anyone notices, we’ll have words.”

“My, aren’t you possessive?” she teased, even as his possessiveness thrilled her.

“About you? Absolutely.”

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