against my hips, the hardness beneath his pants suggesting the very heated thoughts that are flickering through my mind as well. Big dilated eyes catch mine. Our heavy breaths mingle. Our lips are so close I can taste the plea still lingering on his tongue.
A rough hand snatches my chin and tips my head up, our lips coming even more dangerously close. “Say you understand, beautiful,” he whispers in a desperate tone.
I search his gaze—those beautiful light emerald eyes I remember falling into the moment he first looked at me.
He cares.
Even if he doesn’t want to.
And that’s why I submit. I nod to him.
There’s a long moment when his attention slips down, lingering along my lips. An ache glides through me with every passing second as he realizes just how close he and I are.
It hurts to feel the tension. It hurts so good. It hurts even more when he shoves off the mattress. He strides as far away from me as his long legs will carry him.
The door clicks closed.
He leaves.
And it’s only then that I catch my breath.
Possibly for the first time since I arrived in the kingdom of hell.
“The Prince’s dinner is tonight. The dinner,” Zilo explains.
As if the dinner and regular dinner are somehow different in my mind.
Whatever. I’ve learned in our short twenty-four hours together that it makes those lines around his pretty eyes deepen if you interrupt him when he’s plotting.
Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but the motherfucker is always plotting.
Like right now for example:
“I have training with the lowers of hell this morning. Avian is going to train you for tonight. He’s good. He’ll make sure you’re ready.”
Training… Right.
I nod. Avian’s soft smile is reassuring, and I feel like an idiot when I return the gesture to the blind man.
Should I be telling him when I smile? When I nod? What is the protocol here? Why am I like this?
Zilo’s confidence in me wanes when he spots me shaking my head at myself and mumbling quietly about the blonde leading the blind.
“You can do this, right?” Zilo dips his head into my line of sight. “We picked you for a reason.”
“Because I’m pretty. I get it.” My mouth slams together hard.
“Yes but no. Your unique beauty will get his attention. Your mouth will intrigue him—”
Avian smiles harder, and it’s then that I know they have inside jokes about me.
The fur-holes.
“And it’s your fighter background that will keep you alive in all this. Your inability to shift is a hazard to yourself, but you’ve more than made up for it in your life. You’re a survivor. It isn’t just your beauty, Cersia.” His big hand lands on my shoulder, and I feel a tingle of pride from his words.
It’s short-lived.
“So don’t fuck up,” he adds with total seriousness. And then he too slams the door in my face.
Nice pep talk.
“Right,” I whisper to myself.
“You’ll be great,” Avian says smoothly.
“Great,” I echo, still staring at the glossy black door.
It’s a tranquil daze that skips beyond time, and I just can’t snap out of it. I know I’d be more capable if I had my beast to rely on. I almost shifted once…but my father stopped me. I don’t remember why, but I remember the feeling of fear.
I still feel that consuming fear every time I try to shift.
I’m lost in those thoughts. Until something very similar to a snap clicks twice in my ear. My head twitches as a shudder skims through me, and I slowly turn to the boyish man standing behind me with that same casual smile tilting his lips.
He stands shirtless, his broad chest seeming even wider in the dim candlelit lighting of the room. He’s dressed in just black pants once again. Boots that lace up above his ankles give him a militia look. The men gave me similar pants and boots, but lucky me, I got an old tattered black shirt to go along with it.
In Avian’s right hand, he holds a little white gadget.
His thumb presses down, and once more it clicks at me in a harsh aggravating way.
“What the fuck is that annoying little box?” My lips curl hard as I speak.
“It’s a clicker trainer.” He holds it out for me to observe, as if by seeing it closer I might not want to slam it to the ground and stomp on it until it no longer resembles a box at all.
“I don’t get it.” I eye him skeptically.
I thought when Zilo said training, I’d be drop-kicking