choked chuckle, then— “All right.”
He withdrew enough that I could see his face, the quicksilver lightning of his eyes…the unusually open, unguarded expression as he considered me with such intent focus, it rattled me.
“The dagger,” he said, his voice soft yet serious, “can indeed kill me. That wasn’t a lie. You would have to cut off my head, though, which takes more pressure than a slip of a hand.”
Without bending to pick it up, he held the blade from one second to the next, and pushed it—hilt first—into my hand again. He positioned my hold such that the tip of the knife pointed at a spot somewhat left on his chest.
“If you want to incapacitate me, stab me here. With enough force, the blade will pierce my heart and stop it…for some time.”
I stared at the dagger pointing all too eagerly toward that vulnerable spot, then met his gaze with horror-widened eyes, my anger all but fizzled out again. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I do not…” He paused, muscles feathering along his jaw. “…wish for you to fear me.”
I swallowed hard, my throat too dry. “Why do you care?”
Wouldn’t he prefer me cowering scared in my rooms?
Another long pause, during which he appeared to struggle for words. “You’re quiet when you’re afraid,” he said eventually. His voice low and rough, he added, “I don’t like you quiet.”
“Oh.”
That was all I got out. His uncharacteristically open answer threw me for a loop, and I was still spinning when he cupped my cheek, caressed my jaw with his thumb. My lips parted on a soft exhale, and his gaze dropped to my mouth, his features drawing tight with hunger.
And yet, he waited.
For me to ask him? If he thought I’d beg him again, he—
“May I?”
My internal diatribe screeched to a halt. I blinked. “What?”
“Kiss you.”
I stared at him, my thoughts jumbled, my hand still holding that damn dagger. My lips prickled as if already feeling his touch, and I licked them absent-mindedly. The power emanating from him darkened, sharpened, his frame vibrating with tension.
And I knew, without a sliver of doubt, that if I told him no, he’d take that pent-up power, choke it down, and leave me be.
Outside our charade in front of others, he wouldn’t take what wasn’t offered.
“And I wouldn’t break you,” he murmured. “I may sever the wings of the demons who sought to kill me, and I am not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy it.”
His energy stroked over my senses, made me shiver.
“But I will never lay a hand on you with violent intent.” He grasped the dagger—on the end of the blade—and squeezed. Blood welled from between his fingers. “That is my vow.”
“Not the palm!” I squealed and let go of the knife.
His brows drew together. “What?”
“You don’t draw blood from your palm. Too many nerves! And it takes forever to hea—”
I broke off when he opened his red-smeared hand to reveal two cuts…which rapidly closed before my eyes.
I pursed my lips. “Well, um, never mind. I guess.” Glancing at his neck, I added, “So is your throat…?”
He summoned a towel, wiped the blood from his hand and then from his neck as well. Clean, unblemished skin greeted my eyes, not even a scar left over from the cut.
“You can still kiss it better,” he said, tapping the sinewy column of his throat. “It feels a bit…tender.”
The sly slant to his mouth belied the earnestness of his tone.
I leaned fully back against the wall. “Does it now?”
“Mh-hm.”
Every second ticking by hummed with energy, the space between us charged with the kind of tension that made your blood pump faster…and prickle with the knowledge of hovering on a threshold of sorts. A decision loomed, bold and brash, frightening in its consequences.
I could take this step now, open the door for something more, and enjoy what he was offering. Or, I could turn him down, retreat, and keep things the way they were—with me being so damn lonely I started talking to a toilet.
Yeah, no, it wasn’t even a decision at all.
He raised a brow, amusement flickering over his face. “Did you really name your toilet after—”
“Hush now,” I said.
Determination filling my veins, I raised my hand, curled my fingers into his shirt and slowly pulled. He followed my cue and leaned forward, bracing one palm against the wall again as he bent down a little.
Our breaths mingled in the space between. His scent—now mixed with the metallic tang of blood—filled my nose with every inhale,