Page 45 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter forty-two

Nahla

I stand corrected: the Frost King is capable of lavishness.

The table before me brims with it. Salads, soups, roasted meats, piles of sweet rolls, little jars of jam.

Three plates and a bowl stack at my place setting, surrounded by various sizes of forks and spoons.

And to top it all, a steaming mug of a rich chocolate drink smothered in cream.

“Are you making amends, Your Majesty?” I quip, draping the napkin over my lap.

If he thinks he can keep me locked in my room all day, then apologize with an abundance of treats at dinner, he’s mistaken. I grew up with Winona, and I know all the tricks.

“Drink that before it gets cold,” Aethan grunts. He takes a bite of roast woollygoat and chews it roughly, like he’s angry at the meat.

I lift the mug to my mouth, hyperaware of his tracking gaze on my hands, my lips. He can’t look me in the eye. Am I just something pretty to watch at his dinner table? A doll, once again utterly useless in my role.

Fine. See if I fucking care. I watch him over the rim of my mug, determined to hate every drop.

Our shared intimacy on the hunt meant nothing to him, I’m sure. It was hypothermia-induced sex. Hot, heavy, record-shattering sex.

I sip. The drink is velvety sweet and coats my throat with warmth. It’s like a fucking hug for my taste buds, and I almost forget to be mad at him.

I take another sip. Then another. Foam clings to my upper lip. Shit, that’s good.

Aethan stares, his expression battling to stay neutral. “Do you like it?” he asks.

Only his eyes give him away, sparkling like crystal in the morning sun. I study their twinkling hue as my suspicion thickens. Give a female sweet treats, and she’ll say yes to sex later. Is that what this is about?

Not that I’d mind a little more sex. But I shove the thought aside.

“It’s good. I haven’t tried it before. Is this a regional drink?” I lick my lips, growing smug as his eyes follow the path of my tongue.

That’s right, big guy. I’m onto your games.

His mouth twitches. “We call it hot chocolate.”

“Hmm.” Whatever it’s called, it’s fucking delicious. As I guzzle my way to the bottom of the mug, a subtle wave of feeling brushes against my mind. Scales rise on my neck at the foreign emotions: a flash of pleasure, tinged with possession.

I stare at him, puzzled.

He tears into a sweet roll with his perfect teeth, and his eyes flick in my direction. The strange sensation intensifies into worshipful reverence.

“Did you say something?” I ask.

He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “No.”

Odd.

I pluck several lushfruit from the pile and pop one in my mouth. Citrus juice floods my throat, and my cheeks pucker. Another wave of emotion hits me, this time aggressive admiration. I get the sudden urge to squeeze the lushfruit in my hands and mash it to a fleshy red pulp. To take my tongue and—

I release the fruits, and they fall to the table with a soft plunk, plunk, plunk .

Sexual attraction to lushfruit? What the actual fuck ?

Aethan sucks in a sharp breath. His jaw flexes three times, eyes on my discarded fruit, and then he looks up, finally meeting my gaze.

Deliberately, I pick up a lushfruit. With gentle fingers, I push it between my lips. His pupils widen, two black saucers in a sea of ice.

The intruding emotions come again. Lust. Animalistic, burning lust. The light blue of his irises darken, navy bleeding into the edges. The longer I stare, the darker his eyes become.

My stomach flutters. I know those eyes.

I clench at the strength of my yearning for the Beast hidden inside him. What would it take to get him to come out and play?

I’m tired of the king’s games. I crave connection, deep and utter synchrony with his mind and emotions.

I want the rough touch of his hide, the sharp snick of his claws.

The raw power of his thrashing tail. No more tricks.

No more barriers. I want intimacy in its purest form—the brush of our souls, intertwined.

I blink, refocusing on Aethan’s face. His brow is furrowed, mouth strained. His eyes are glassy now, and he looks straight through me.

Lust. Frustration. Need.

Are these thoughts his ?

My hands grip the napkin in my lap, balling it tightly. As if a piece of cloth could ground me in my body and keep my soul from lifting. As if I could stop the slow curl of magic in my stomach, rising to his call.

The song buzzes in my throat, through my parting lips, and then I’m singing to the king. A raspy, alto note rings out, resonating deep in my chest.

Aethan goes rigid. His eyes snap into focus. Hands clamp on the table, the tips of his fingers stained dark blue.

Shit . I thought my magic didn’t work on merfolk minds, only animals. So why is it working on him now? Suddenly, I crave the answer.

Part of me spirals toward him. I surround his mind, brushing against his conscience as I continue to sing my spell. I inflect the tune, adding words. “Hello, Beasty. Did you miss me?”

Aethan hisses. His head tips to the ceiling as his jaw clenches, working hard. The blue scales crawl over his strained knuckles.

“Nahla, please . Don’t do this.” His voice rumbles, deeper than usual, taking on a gravelly timbre.

“Do what, Your Majesty?”

I skirt the edges of his mind, scanning for weak points. His outer defenses form a hard shell, cold and firm as iron.

“Stop. Singing.” He pushes out of his chair, rising to his full height. Glowering, angry Beast. My core floods with arousal. Shit.

“Come out and play.”

He comes around the table, prowling toward me with the starved look of a predator.

With his foot, he drags the leg of my chair, swiveling me to face him head-on.

He bends low and frames me with his hands.

The scent of him washes over me, peppermint and snow, and my eyelids flutter.

Every nerve in my body rises to greet him.

Yes, Beasty. I’m right here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grunts.

A coy smile spreads my lips. “Don’t you, Aethan?”

“No.”

“Take me for a swim.”

“No.” His nostrils flare. “You don’t know the risks. I could”—he chokes out the words—“hurt you.”

Hurt me? I don’t fucking care. Let him try. Let him do his worst. I need him. I want him, all of him, as much as he can give me.

No more secrets.

I clench my diaphragm and strengthen my Voice, forming the command with my mind and mouth. “ Come .”

I pierce the shell of his psyche, bursting into the world of his emotions. Desire. Anger. Desperation. Yearning. The clouds of his thoughts rise to greet me, swirling and sucking me deeper. Ushering me in.

Aethan’s eyes widen. His grip tightens on my chair and his breath comes more quickly. He touches his forehead against mine.

“You,” he gasps. “You will ruin me.”

I grasp him by his ears, and hold him in place. Our noses slide together. My song swirls between us, building as the mental connection strengthens through our touch.

“Please.” I close my eyes and nuzzle closer still until our lips rest a scale’s breadth apart. “Let me in.”

War rages within him, the fury against the hope. A storm of ice and flame. Then Aethan closes the gap and kisses me. Hard. With a desperate growl of surrender.