her chest threatened to unravel any moment, as if tugging on one thread—any thread—would bring it all crashing down.
Archeron had seen to that. Just the thought of the visions prickled her skin with sweat, the image of Stolas hurt, Stolas dying, her heart shattering over and over as she relived losing him . . . runes.
“Tired. Right.” He inhaled deeply. “King Eros was right about one thing. Your flesh is still very much mortal, which means you can’t lie to me, nor can you mask your fear.”
Dammit.
“Maybe that’s why I’m afraid. No matter how much magick I possess, or how beautifully I dress the part, I will always be mortal, my fragile body slowly decaying, growing older, one mistake away from death.”
“We are all one mistake from death.” His full lips parted slightly as his heavy-lidded gaze swept down her dress, clinging to the curves. “But fragile and decaying are not words I would use to describe you.”
“Not yet, but the Solis and Noctis? That’s all they’ll think about when they look at me. Perhaps King Eros told the truth.”
A wicked grin carved into his jaw. “Oh, he most certainly did. You are mortal. You are beautiful. And you do fill out that dress—although he failed to mention how exquisitely. But that is not why your heart races, is it?”
Her dry throat scraped together as she tried to swallow. That thing inside her—the thing that twisted a little each time she was around him—throbbed almost painfully, cutting into flesh and bone with each turn.
Bad idea—this was a bad idea.
“There it is again.” His fingers were cool as they took her chin, delicately, as if she might indeed break, and tilted her eyes up to meet his. The ring of golden fire rimming his strange eyes danced light over the high cliffs of his cheekbones, his thick eyelashes casting long shadows. “What could make the most magnificent creature I’ve ever met afraid?”
As she looked into that cruelly magnificent face, the familiar planes of his too-sharp jaw and straight nose, the devilish mouth perpetually twisted in some private jest, those haunted eyes so full of emotion and now brimming with delicate hope . . . she understood.
She could love him, this broken, monstrous, beautiful Shade Lord.
That’s what scared her.
She probably did love him. Probably had for a long time. Before Effendier. Before they broke the Curse. She must have known it when she said Stolas’s name while with Archeron.
And then, when Archeron made her relive Stolas’s death in her visions and she woke up to Stolas holding her, unaware she was awake, unaware she could witness the tenderness of his touch . . .
Everything had fallen into place.
But it had taken up until this moment to admit to herself the truth. Her mind reeled. When had that happened? How?
Maybe during one of their training sessions, which made absolutely zero sense because she had hated him and he had despised her and . . .
Runes. She loved him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She loved Stolas Darkshade. Loved him. And she was terrified because she knew what Archeron would do if he found out.
Just as she knew that there was a good chance that Stolas didn’t feel the same way. Perhaps he wasn’t even capable of love.
Agony tumbled through her at the next thought.
Perhaps he simply wasn’t capable of loving her.
She heaved out a ragged breath, intending to push him away, but his stare dropped to her lips. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he took in her mouth, parted and trembling.
Head tilted, his eyes lifted once more to meet hers as, slowly, curiously, he flicked his thumb out and brushed the delicate swell of her bottom lip.
The contact sent a shiver of sensation hurtling through her so powerful that she thought he used magick at first.
His pupils swelled, a snarl of surprise rumbling his chest.
And then his gaze shifted to the curve of her shoulder and she followed his attention and—
She was glowing. Just like in Solethenia right before . . . oh, Goddess save her.
This wasn’t happening.
18
“Beastie.” Stolas’s normally elegant voice was husky as he ran a lazy finger down her shoulder, tracing her marks, leaving a path of icy-hot fire in his wake. “Is this what scares you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liar, her body accused. Molten fire burned through her core. Each wave that crashed over her, leaving her skin sensitive and aching, whispered the same.
Liar liar liar.
“Or this?” She gasped as his hand found the slit of fabric along her