dress was a mistake. I’ve worn sashes that were warmer.”
“I was not dying.” He shifted her in his arms. “And this dress will never be a mistake on you.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve secured us a small tent for the night. It’s not glamorous, but there’s a fire and blankets.”
“And I need to be carried there?” she asked, tilting her head to meet his eyes. They were swollen with magick, the luminescent golden glow seeping out of them brighter than the moons above.
“Carrying you into my tent tells the demonai out there who have been watching you all night that you’re mine.”
Mine. Something fluttered inside her chest. “My, aren’t you a greedy Shade Lord?”
A dark smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Her heart sped up. “You can’t possibly still be . . . hungry.”
“Can’t I?” he taunted softly. “Beastie, darkcasters are ravenous by nature. We drink from lightcasters for two reasons: necessity and pleasure. Every demonai in this camp has been sated ten times over this evening, and yet they still burn with the primal need to drain your essence.”
She shivered. And do you burn with that same need?
The unsaid question hovered between them, along with a million more. Questions she might never dare ask for fear of the answer.
Her hair slipped over her shoulder as he dipped into a tent barely a quarter the size of the one before. Stolas had to stoop to keep from brushing his horns on the pitched ceiling. Haven’s entire body shivered as the warmth from the brass chimenea in the center met her cold skin. Her limbs were stiff and achy as he settled her onto a pile of soft tan and black furs.
He turned to hang their cloaks on one of the tent poles, and she let her eyelids drift shut as the heat rolled over her.
When her eyes blinked open, she found Stolas watching her beneath heavy lids. Firelight caught in the dress’s strange metallic sheen, highlighting every curve from the cliff of her collarbone to the dip between her breasts.
His ashen-silver lashes dipped as he let his gaze roam lower.
“Definitely not a mistake,” he murmured, voice thick with sarcasm and something else as he dragged his attention to the fire. The new logs shifted, flames leaping from the chimenea, crackling and popping.
She curled into a ball beneath the furs, eyelids drooping, and watched Stolas settle in front of the fire. He stretched out his long legs. His wings were facing her, their normally glossy sheen dulled by dust and sand. One hand rested over his side, pressed as if to quell pain.
Haven propped up on an elbow. “So you’re all better now?”
The memory of him stumbling, wings dragging in the sand, was hard to shake.
“How do you define better?”
“Are you going to die?”
“Not tonight.”
Smartass. “Are you not going to sleep?”
It felt like a silly question. Noctis slept as much as Solis did, which was very little. But they did need at least a few hours a night.
“I can rest my eyes here,” he answered without looking back.
“Are you worried the demonai will come for me during the night?”
“No. They know you belong to me.”
“Belong?” She lifted a sleepy brow, suddenly far from tired. “To you?”
“Semantics.” She could tell by his lilting tone he was grinning. “They assume you belong to me because I just carried you into my tent. Normally a lightcaster of your rare powers would be the property of a Demon Lord, but that fits into our story.”
“Which is?”
“That I am here to sell you to Lord Malik.”
She tensed beneath the covers. Sell. That word flooded her veins with violence. Violence and shame and a powerlessness she swore to never feel again.
“If that bothers you, we can make a new strategy.”
She shook her head. Stolas knew how she felt about slavery, and he wouldn’t have made the plan if it wasn’t their best option. Pretending to be a blood slave, however reprehensible, gave them the highest chance of infiltrating the palace and taking back the painting.
“So I’m safe—for tonight, at least?” she pressed.
His shoulders dipped slightly as he gave a heavy sigh. “From them? Most likely. Although your intoxicating scent of magick is probably driving them half-mad with bloodlust as we speak.”
“You said I was safe from them. Does that mean I’m not safe from you?”
“Bed,” he growled.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, but tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. His warning about what to expect when