Page 43 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)
Leaning forward with a smirk, he lays a kiss on my cheek. Warm. The gentle press of his lips against my skin is laced with all the heat of the inner layers of infernum , holding an equally sweet and filthy promise of all the things we didn’t finish last night.
“What can I say? I missed you, ocellus, ” Val whispers in my ear, only for me. Not an act in the slightest.
“I saw you last night,” I offer back quietly. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, as I’m now recalling the encounter all over again.
“And the hours between have been far too long.” He pulls away, giving me a barely perceptible wink.
My chest is embarrassingly hot. I’m certain if I glance down, it will be glowing bright like a furnace behind the black lace of my dress .
“I apologize. I really hadn’t planned to intrude.
But I ran into Roarke” —Val says the name terrifyingly pronounced, the K clicking off his tongue—“who heard of a lovely game of croquet taking place in the park. Seeing as how I couldn’t dissuade him from interloping on your afternoon, I decided to join myself. ”
Roarke scowls.
A trickle of discomfort falls down my neck, and I take him in again. His rakish persona is still in place, but just behind it, a far more sinister promise simmers, his stare pinned on me, rather my husband. The heat behind it is threatening. Nefarious.
Considering the origins of their rivalry, what would Roarke be willing to do?
I’m not invincible. And it isn’t like married women are never targeted for non-consensual acts.
A vinculum bond can’t tell the difference between assault and affair.
If anyone had in mind to take what isn’t theirs, my wedding ring would still shrink against my finger, cutting off a vital vein that races to my heart.
Eventually severing my finger and killing me if the abuse was repeated.
Instinctively, I lean into Val, my shoulder pressed against his hard chest. My nose sucks in the warm notes of his masculine scent. Clean and spicy. Woodsy.
In yet another moment of pure insanity, I thank the deos for my husband’s intense level of devotion to my safety. I barely stifle a shiver, noticed by Val. His hand on my hip grips me tighter, a wordless communication. You are mine, and I will protect you.
Val smiles, leaning in closer to me, lip rings barely touching the skin at my hairline, and says in a mock whisper, “You see, Delaney, Roarke and I are quite competitive.” Another reassurance.
Roarke waves a hand impatiently. “All of The Citadel and Omnitas—really Noctua —know that we’re mortal enemies, my Lord.” Something dangerous flashes over his face as he uses Val’s official title before he masks it again. “On the field.”
“On the field. Of course,” Val challenges back.
Not a single person in existence would ever believe that their competitiveness is limited only to sport.
Our party is sensing the tension between the two imposing men, thick like tar, and begins trickling away with vague excuses.
Unbothered and with pure adoration, Val brings his attention back to me. “I had in mind to give you another belated wedding gift this evening, but what better time is there than now? Especially with the activities of the day.”
A flare of anger bursts in my stomach, thinking of the painting. The owl brooch. All the other small, thoughtful gifts he’s been leaving to try and earn my forgiveness. “You shouldn’t have.”
Really. He shouldn’t have. Whatever the gift is, I will only destroy it and leave the pieces scattered across his bed.
Val smiles lovingly at me. “There’s nothing that could ever stop me from showering you with gifts . ” The intensity in his eyes says everything he hasn’t: He isn’t upset with me for destroying the painting. He understands, because of course he does. And he is completely undeterred.
Pink deepens across my cheeks. With any luck, it’s hidden in my already blazing face, thanks to the summer sun.
No such luck, it’s noticed. Val’s smile widens and he leans down—ever so slowly—to gently nudge the tip of my nose with his while simultaneously stroking my heated cheek with his thumb.
A quiet, intimate gesture, too much like we shared in his owl form.
It nearly knocks my legs out from under me.
Reminding me that I hold one of his deepest secrets, and he couldn’t be happier that I finally know .
Roarke sighs with impatience, shattering the moment.
Val reluctantly leans away and motions his steward forward, a large black box in his white gloved hands.
Val takes it from him dutifully, not allowing another person to present the gift to me.
He lays it out on the center of the table, careful not to crush the centerpieces of summer wildflowers or spill the lingering glasses of lemonade, sweating as profusely as my own neck.
Hinges are silent as my husband lifts the lid, revealing an ebony wood croquet set inside, so stunning it steals the breath straight from my lungs as effectively as the hands of a reaper.
On the faces of the mallets are etchings of barn owls, wings spread wide.
Tiny, silver mirror images of the tattoo sprawling over Val’s back.
Over both of our clothing, signifying us as Lord and Lady.
It’s obvious that the role was always meant to be Val’s.
He very well may be the only barn owl shifter to exist since the very days of the Nocturne being put to rest.
An impossibility. A miracle.
Shaky fingers reach out to stroke the black wood, the silver accents, absorbing the craftsmanship through touch as astutely as through sight.
I simply cannot stop myself. All Val’s gifts have been thoughtful, but this particular one is tugging at me with a fierceness because of my love for croquet and how that facet of myself was always deliberately, poignantly ignored.
Just like anything else that might have indicated I had a personality all my own.
Selise gasps beside me, equally impressed. “Val, those are beautiful.”
“Pale in comparison to the radiance of their owner,” he responds seamlessly, brushing his fingers across my lower back. Sweet. Reverent.
“Valledyn.” I’m dumbfounded. “This is exuberant.” Not quite as eloquently put as I had intended, too much; over the top; too thoughtful and knowing of my likes and interests for me to be comfortable would have been much better options.
“I disagree.” His black eyes glint. Incredibly pleased with himself. I love the croquet set far more than I should ever love anything Val had a hand in. And he knows it. “Nothing is too much for my wife.”
I roll my lips together, biting back a confounding smile through the fire roaring in my stomach, only acknowledging the heat of my hatred, and not that deep simmer that Val keeps managing to stoke.
He grins wider, pulling me into his side.
“I adore giving you gifts. But you already know that, don’t you? ”
A (not entirely convincing) bored drawl breaks our intensity.
“Yes,” Roarke says. “Congratulations on your incomprehensible marriage. We’re all delighted that you two odd souls managed to find each other.
” With a cruel smirk, he adds, “No wonder so much death carved the path to your wedding ring, being masters of it yourself. How arcane of you.”
The air around us grows chilly, Val’s hold on my waist tightening. His short lived offense melts away into arrogance. “Yes. I daresay my wife and I have been set apart. And found ourselves exactly where we were always meant to be. As have you and your father.”
“Indeed,” Roarke replies curtly. Flat. “Now, if you’re quite finished harassing your bride with expensive gifts in a public display, may we play?”
Roarke’s statement brings to my attention that while our party may have abandoned us, being in the know of the tension between the two, a group of civilian spectators have joined.
The energy of the crowd is light, happy.
Pleased to see the loving display between their new symbols of hope—two people who have defied the odds, clawed their way out of undesirable lives .
“You can put to use your pretty new set, my Lady.” Roarke indicates his head towards the box on the table.
I pluck up a black and silver mallet, weighing it in my hand before holding it out to Val.
“You would allow me to borrow one?” he asks, pleasantly surprised.
“Obviously. Why else would I be holding it out to you?”
He chuckles, biting his lip to barely suppress a wide grin at my snark. “I’m honored,” Val says proudly, brushing his fingers over mine deliberately as he takes the mallet.
Lacing my arm through Selise’s, I smile, my attention directed at Val, and Val alone. “I think I’ll sit this one out. I don’t think my dear husband is quite prepared for the rivalry that may brew with me. ”