Page 20 of Cursed Dreams (Shadow and Dreams #1)

Thalia pushed back her chair with purpose, the alcohol thrumming hot in her veins, her pulse steady with reckless determination.

"Fine," she declared, smoothing down her sheer embroidered dress. "I’m going."

"That’s my girl!" Cellen cheered, laughing as she squared her shoulders and turned toward the predator across the room. She marched straight for Vaelith

Thalia barely stopped before Vaelith, her heart pounding, the room spinning ever so slightly as she planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

“What’s wrong with my magic?” she demanded, skipping any pretence of politeness.

Vaelith, who had been leaning lazily against the bar, one long leg crossed over the other, lifted a brow, clearly amused. His dark tunic stretched over broad shoulders, and his arms, gods, his arms, were muscular beneath the fabric, resting lightly on the counter.

His lips curved, slow and knowing. “Are you drunk?”

“That is not the point.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, rushing into each other in an unstoppable tide.

“The point is—you made me think there was something wrong with my magic! Like I wasn’t good enough or strong enough, like I was some kind of, lesser thing!

You made me feel like I was stupid, but I’m not stupid!

I study, I work hard, I know I’m smart, so why do you act like I’m, nothing?

Like one moment, you’re decent, and the next, you’re a downright dick! ”

By the time she finished, she was breathless, chest rising and falling, face flushed with frustration, and possibly the four or five drinks still coursing through her veins.

For a heartbeat, Vaelith just stared at her.

Then he laughed.

Not a small chuckle, not a smirk, but an actual, full-bodied, uninhibited laugh.

Thalia blinked.

She had never heard him laugh like this before. Hell, she hadn’t even been sure he was capable of it. His usual smirks were wry at best, mocking at worst, but this?

His entire face transformed.

The usual tension in his sharp, regal features melted away. His lips, fuller than she’d ever allowed herself to notice, curved in genuine amusement, and his eyes, which she had always found cold, now gleamed with mirth. The sound of his laughter was rich, deep, and utterly carefree.

He looked… younger.

More beautiful.

She swallowed hard.

Finally, his laughter faded, though a smirk still tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, amused. “Your magic is fine, Thalia.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you look at me like, like it was wrong?”

His smirk softened. “Because it reminded me of my own. That’s all.”

That gave her pause. “Your magic?”

He didn’t elaborate, simply lifted a hand to signal the barkeep. A moment later, a drink was placed in front of her, something dark and strong, carrying the scent of honey and spice.

“Here,” he said, nudging it toward her. “For your troubles.”

Thalia huffed, still feeling somewhat indignant, but she took the drink anyway. The first sip burned pleasantly down her throat, warming her from the inside.

Vaelith watched her, arms folded, his gaze assessing, but not in the usual, unreadable way. It was different now.

Relaxed.

Almost… playful.

And gods help her, now that she wasn’t spitting angry at him, now that she was sitting across from him with a drink in hand and the alcohol muddling her thoughts, she was finally noticing things.

Like the way the candlelight flickered over his sharp cheekbones, casting golden shadows on flawless skin.

Or the way his tunic clung to his broad chest, the fabric stretching just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

Or the shape of his mouth, which was far too perfect, far too—

Gods.

She took another sip, quickly.

Vaelith arched a brow, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Something wrong?”

She tilted her head, smirking slightly. “No, I was just thinking… I never realized how attractive you are.” the words were out before she could stop them.

His lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

He leaned forward, eyes dark and wholly amused. “Drunk Thalia is very bold.”

“Maybe.” She traced the rim of her glass with one finger, feeling bolder than ever. “But I speak the truth.”

Vaelith hummed, watching her closely, his smirk deepening.

“Well then,” he said smoothly, “by all means, continue.”

Vaelith watched her.

Not just watched, devoured.

His eyes, sharp and wholly unreadable, dragged over her from the top of her head to the soft swell of her cleavage, to the curve of her waist, before flicking back up to meet her gaze. The intensity of it was a slow burn, a smoulder, one that promised wicked things.

Thalia’s breath hitched.

Her mouth turned dry.

And gods help her, but her mind betrayed her completely.

Suddenly, she was thinking of things she had no business thinking about, of what it would feel like to run her hands over that hard, muscled chest, to trace the sharp cut of his jaw with her lips, to bite at that ever-present smirk until he stopped teasing and kissed her properly.

To feel his hands on her, not in battle, not in dismissal, but in desperate, heated worship.

Her stomach coiled tight, heat pooling low, making her thighs press together beneath the bar.

Gods.

It had to be the alcohol, the buzz in her veins making her inhibitions dangerously thin.

She blamed the drinks, the heady mix of mead and whatever else Cellen had given her, because there was no other explanation for why she suddenly felt like she needed to know what he tasted like.

She wasn’t inexperienced, she had had a few trysts back home in her village, but they had been so long ago, she needed someone to feel close to, to help satisfy the growing need inside her, no not someone her mind raced, she needed him .

Vaelith’s smirk deepened, as if he could hear every single filthy thought running through her mind.

Thalia swallowed, heart hammering, pulse thrumming wildly in her throat.

“Well?” His voice was low, smooth, curling around her like a warm touch. “You were about to tell me more about how attractive I am.”

Bastard.

But gods help her, she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap that smirk off his face—or kiss it instead.

Thalia shifted in her seat, trying to ease the heat curling low in her belly. It was supposed to be a subtle movement, just a small adjustment, something to regain control over her wildly betraying body. But the second she did, Vaelith went utterly still.

Not just still, predatory.

His smirk disappeared.

His entire body tensed, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap.

And when he looked at her again, really looked at her, his expression was no longer teasing. It was hunger.

Something deep and dark and unmistakably male.

Thalia sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse hammering like a war drum in her chest. The air between them shifted, crackled.

Then Vaelith leaned in just enough for her to hear the raw edge in his voice.

“Five seconds, Thalia,” he murmured, his tone gravelly, as if the words were being dragged from him with significant effort.

Her stomach flipped.

He kept going, his voice dropping even lower, rougher, dangerous.

“Five seconds to turn around and walk back to your friends.” His fingers flexed against the table as if he was fighting to keep them still, as if he wanted to reach for her. “Before I do something we may both regret.”

Thalia barely heard the words.

Not when his gaze was scorching her alive, searing through her clothes, branding her to her bones.

She knew that look.

It was the kind that promised ruin. The kind that said he would take his time, that he would devour her inch by inch, that once he had her, he wouldn’t stop until she was completely undone.

Her breath came faster, her skin prickling with awareness.

She should leave.

She should absolutely leave.

And yet, she found herself frozen in place, because gods, she wanted to see what would happen if she didn’t.

Thalia felt heat rush through her veins, like an inferno, bold and reckless, burning away every thought except one, him.

The alcohol made her fearless, made her needy, made her crave the wicked promise in Vaelith’s eyes.

She leaned in closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, and with a slow, teasing purr, she whispered:

“One… two… three… four…”

Vaelith’s gaze darkened, his silver eyes melting into something deeper, something dangerous, a shade that looked almost like molten gold. The flickering candlelight of the tavern caught in them, making them burn, making him look like a creature out of legend, out of nightmares and dreams alike.

His smirk was slow, wicked, and full of intent.

“Five.”

Before she could breathe, shadows engulfed her.

A rush of darkness, cold, swift, disorienting, like falling and flying at the same time. She gasped, but her breath never found purchase. The world blurred, twisting, shifting, and the only constant was Vaelith.

His arms, strong, unyielding, locked around her. His glowing, predatory gaze never wavered, never strayed from hers.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, they were outside.

An alleyway.

The night air was cool against her flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire roaring inside her.

Before she could gather her bearings, she was pinned.

Pinned against the rough stone wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her dress bunched at her thighs, his body, hard, hot, overwhelming, pressed flush against hers.

She gasped at the feeling of his muscles, the sheer strength in him, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. The scrape of the wall at her back only heightened the sensation of him, all muscle and heat and tension, holding her there like he could shatter her if he let go.