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I growl into her mouth, lifting her against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, and I can feel the heat of her through our clothes. She tastes like fire—wild and dangerous and impossibly addictive.
"Where?" I demand against her lips, already half-mad with wanting her.
"Upper floor," she gasps, breaking away long enough to gesture toward a side staircase. "Private entrance."
I carry her there, wings partially unfurled for balance as she clings to me, her mouth now working hungrily along my neck. The stairs creak beneath our combined weight, but I barely notice, too consumed by the feel of her in my arms, the scent of her skin.
She fumbles with a key when we reach her door, hands shaking. I press her against the wood, reclaiming her mouth while she struggles with the lock. When the door finally swings open, I carry her inside, kicking it shut behind us.
Her living quarters are sparse but clean—a single room with a bed against one wall, a small hearth, a table with two chairs. None of it matters. All I see is the bed and the woman in my arms looking at me with equal parts hatred and desire.
I amveryglad I made this stop.
2
RONNIE
ONE YEAR LATER…
Islip from beneath Araton's arm, his skin still burning hot against mine. The wooden floor feels cool under my bare feet as I stand, deliberately keeping my back to him. My discarded clothes lie scattered—evidence of how quickly we tore them off each other hours ago.
"Leaving so soon?" His voice slides over me like warm honey, rich with that self-satisfied tone that makes me want to both slap him and climb back into bed. "The night's barely begun, fierce one."
I snatch my shirt from the floor, pulling it over my head. "The night began and ended exactly as it was supposed to." My hair tumbles down my back as I yank it free from the collar, feeling his eyes tracking every movement. "You got what you came for."
"And you didn't?" He laughs, the sound rumbling through my small bedroom.
I turn just enough to glare at him, hating how magnificent he looks sprawled across my sheets. He's propped against my pillows, all bronze skin and lean muscle, those dusky gray-blue wings draped carelessly over the edge of the bed. Silver flecks catch the lamplight, making the feathers shimmer like stars. Hisshort black hair is more tousled than usual, thanks to my fingers running through it when I?—
No. I cut off that thought before it fully forms.
"Look at you," Araton purrs, golden eyes gleaming as they trail down my bare legs. "Standing there trying to hate me while your body still trembles from what I just did to it."
"Don't flatter yourself." I hunt for my pants, avoiding his gaze. "It's a physical reaction. Nothing more."
"Keep telling yourself that." He stretches languidly, wings extending slightly before settling back against his shoulders. "Maybe one day you'll actually believe it."
I locate my pants beneath the small table and tug them on, feeling a twinge between my thighs—a reminder of how thoroughly he claimed me. Again. Just like every month for the past year when he mysteriously finds a reason to pass through my village.
"Don't you have important messages to deliver for your precious lord?" I tie the drawstring at my waist with short, sharp movements. "I'm sure Lord Ithuriel wonders why his courier takes such lengthy detours."
Araton sits up, sheet pooling at his hips. That dimple appears in his right cheek—the genuine one, not the practiced charm he displays to get what he wants. "Are you asking about my work, Ronnie? How domestic. Should I tell you about my day next?"
"I'd rather drink poison." I toss his pants at his face. He catches them with irritating ease. "Put these on and go."
"You wound me." He places a hand over his heart, golden eyes wide with mock hurt. "After everything we shared tonight."
"We shared nothing but bodily fluids," I snap, though my voice lacks the conviction I wish it held. "Same as every other time."
He rises, gloriously naked and unashamed, wings arching slightly behind him. "For someone who claims to hate me, youcertainly remember to clean your sheets before I arrive each month."
Heat floods my face. I hate that he noticed. Hate that I care enough to do it. "Don't read into things that aren't there."
"I read exactly what is there." He steps closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. Not looking down. Definitely not looking down. "The hatred in your eyes when you see me. The way you fight it until you can't anymore. The way you surrender?—"
"I never surrender." I press a hand against his chest to stop his advance. His skin burns against my palm like a brand.
"No?" His hand covers mine, keeping it trapped against the solid wall of his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. "What would you call it when you're writhing beneath me, begging me not to stop?"