Page 73 of Blackheart

I did as he said, facing back to the almost useless fire and cringing as he tended to the wound. I hadn’t expected him to use his own shirt.

When he was done wrapping my thigh, he crouched, gathering up my wet hair and tying it in the most horrendous bun.

“I’m moving you closer to the fire. You’re too cold,” he warned before hooking his arms under my bare waist and carrying me closer. I melted into the warmth of his arms againstmy damp skin. He placed me down with ease, and I was thankful to finally feel the heat of the fire.

He rolled up my cloak and stuffed it under my head like a pillow. “Don’t hate me,” he said.

“Why would I hate you?”

Down to his black undershorts, he scooted behind me, lying down before throwing his blanket over us.

I suddenly became very aware of my breathing, as I thought it may have stopped.

Careful of my broken bone, he wrapped his arms around me, warming my skin. His touch soothed some aching part deep within me, more vulnerable than any of my physical injuries.

It was impossible not to want more. I wanted—no, Ineededhim closer.

Nudging myself slightly back, he took it as an invitation to readjust, sliding his hand over my bare hip and pulling me close. This time, I was certain he meant to do it.

His unsteady breath on my neck sent shivers down my back, but I wasn’t cold anymore.

“I don’t hate you,” I mumbled.

Chapter 23

You’re Supposed to be Broken

“No Draker, knight, nor nobleman of this age can contest the skill of Xavian Steele. Bastard though he may be, he is, without question, the finest blade our generation has ever produced.”

—A Modern History of the Realm, by Jon Harvington

I was no longeron the forest floor with Riven. Instead, I strode along an outdoor corridor of a grey building, but it was not me controlling my legs. I had no choice or ability to do anything. I could only watch.

I was locked behind the eyes of another, to where not even my own mind could trick me into believing it was real. It was a dream.

I pushed through towering steel doors and into what appeared to be a meeting room. Three men sat dripping in wealth at a magnificent black oval table overlooking the ocean beneath the night sky.

Only one cushioned chair was left empty at the head of the table. The body I was trapped in sat, and the four men turned to me attentively.

An older, balding man with spectacles and a hooked nose spoke first. “My lord, I think the Dark Natured are too unpredictable to–”

“I’ve had enough of your thinking,” a voice erupted from my mouth—a man’s voice, unyielding.

To my right, a freckled man with cropped red hair grinned delightfully.

To my left was a man with long, sleek black hair. He was perhaps a few winters older than me, wearing a rich emerald green jacket that contrasted with his pale face. His expression was stone cold as he shook his head.

There were no documents on the table, just a space for discussion. No Drakers were present either. The castle could not be in Drakington, because the moonlit ocean was so close.

“Open the brotherhood toanyonewho will join,” my mouth said.

“My lord, Xavian, I—” the older man began.

Xavian?

The one with long, dark hair cut the grumpy one off. “I agree, my lord. We need the numbers for our forces.”

“While I’m glad you agree, it was not up for discussion,” Xavian’s voice said through my mouth, before turning to the one with red hair. “Avan, what is the update on the intruders from earlier? I hear they want me dead?”