I toyed with the hem of my dress, raising it up a little higher over my thighs. Inching it up, a little at a time.
I bit my lip. “You know, I was having the most wild dream about you when you came in.”
37
Lila
His gray eyes swept up to me. “I know you’re up to something, and I’m far too tired to care what it is. I have expended a great deal of energy executing people this evening. I have none left to be drawn into whatever intrigues or schemes you have in mind.” His voice was low, controlled.
But despite his words, his eyes were on my thighs. Intently.
I handed him the bottle of whiskey. “You need to relax.”
He stared at the bottle for a long moment before his gaze met mine again. “Whatever you’re plotting, you should stop.”
He pulled the whiskey from my hand anyway.
Entranced, I watched as he took a sip. A little line formed between his straight, black eyebrows. Then, he took another sip. “It burns,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, staring at it with wonder.
There was something completely intoxicating about watching an angel drink alcohol for the first time. Here I was, corrupting the Angel of Death. And the night was still young.
I stared as he took a third sip.
He handed it back to me, and when I met his eyes, I saw something unexpected. Despite his ruthlessness, he had a certain innocence in his pale eyes. He didn’t fully understand this world, did he?
He frowned at me. “Others may not see it in you, Zahra,” he said quietly. “But there is something particularly ferocious in you. And deceit comes as easily to you as breathing. If you haven’t yet betrayed me, I am sure that you will. I can feel it. Even now I think of punishing you for whatever you are scheming.”
A little bit of nervousness skimmed up my spine. “But your dream says I’m important,” I reminded him. “So you have to keep me around.”
His gaze slid down my body again, and I tugged the hem of my dress up a little higher, nearly showing off the red kickers. The tiniest lick of flames lit up his eyes.
So I fancied the Angel of Death. It wasn’t my fault he was hot.
“My dreams also say you are dangerous.” His voice sounded husky, flames wavering brighter.
My attack was advancing. I let one shoulder of the dress fall down, exposing the top of my breast, the red lace of my bra. I moved in closer to him, only inches from where he sat.
His eyes burned, and his body had gone completely still.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. “I don’t see how it’s possible that I’m the dangerous one. You’re the Angel of Death.”
And yet the way his body tensed, the way his eyes glowed with flames—he looked like he sensed a threat. I was the threat.
“You’ve never had whiskey before tonight,” I said, handing it back to him. “But what about a woman?”
His entire body shuddered. His grip tightened on the bottle until he was at risk of breaking it.
“I have never before had interest in mortal women.”
“Never before?”
His penetrating gaze was taking me apart, one piece at a time. “What did I tell you about curiosity?”
The memory of our kiss on the boat was burning in my mind, and the way my body had felt against his. The way his hands had gripped me, possessively, making me ache for him.
Even if he was evil, I wanted him. Maybe it was something about the way he looked at me sometimes, like now. Like he was looking for answers from me, intently trying to read me.
Just like I’d seen the dancers do at the music hall, I slid into his lap, straddling him. Our faces were close now, and heat poured off him. My thighs were wrapped around his waist, my dress riding up to my hips.
His entire body went tense, jaw clenching.
“That’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice husky. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. And when it comes to you, neither do I.”
Something compelled me to touch the side of his face. As my hand pressed against his skin, warmth rushed into my palm, “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
He closed his eyes. “I am Death Incarnate. And when my true face emerges, something terrible usually follows.”
In war, you had to take your chances. So I ran my hand down his chest.