Page 96 of Silvercloak

She tried to shake away the troubling instinct, but once she finallyallowed herself to imagine what she and Levan could do in the name of pleasure, she had immense trouble unimagining it.

Levan clearly waged the same internal war—and lost.

And she sensed that he did not often lose the battle against his own mind.

He pushed off the desk and crossed the room to where she stood. Breath failed her. He was soclose. She felt his body’s heat, smelled the leather of his belt and the lemon-mint of his soap. She remembered the sight of him rebuckling his belt over his hard, pale stomach after his dalliance with Harrow, and everything in her tightened.

Slowly, so slowly, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his touch so gentle it sent a shiver down her spine, then cupped her jaw in both hands. Pleasure trickled into her well, down her spine, deep into her belly, so much more powerful than a mere stroke along the cheekbone should be, and with it came a fresh pouring of magic.

He looked at her as though she had saved him, which she had, and as though she would be the death of him, which she would.

“Thank you,” he said again, and there was a simplicity, a purity to the words.

“For saving your life?” she murmured, her voice strangled, uncertain, and she was thinking about the vast complexity of him, but also about what it might feel like if she gave into this temptation.

“For reminding me I’m human.”

His cerulean eyesglittered.For a long, taut moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. They both needed pleasure, after all, and kissing was a convenient place to find it.

Her heart stilled in her chest.

Was this the prophesied moment? Her wand was in her hand, and because of the way his body was pressed against hers, it could very well be the moment she foresaw with that relic wand.

No. It couldn’t be. She’d just saved his life.

Why would she murder him less than an hour later?

Saints.Those eyes looked brand-new. As though she was seeing an intimate, forbidden part of him.

She found herself caught up in the intensity of his gaze, surprisedby the stirring of emotion in her chest. Her hand went absently to the pendant resting on her clavicle. Everything was muddled and confused, as though someone had turned her upside down and shaken her like a snowglobe.

She should not feel what she was feeling.

She should not find him so beautiful.

She should not long to grasp the invisible string that bound them together and pull with all her might.

The moment sprawled out a beat too long, and Levan misread the frantic parsing flicker of her eyes as fear, dropping his feather grip on her chin. Her skin felt cold with the absence of his hands, and there was an unbearable tingling speckled over the surface of her skin. Her ridiculous animal body urged her forward, urged her to lace her fingers through his hair, to—

Stop,she snarled at herself, and she pulled back at the last moment.

Disappointment played out over Levan’s face—and too in her own stomach.

He gave her one final look of pained gratitude and left the room.

Saffron felt dizzy, disoriented, intoxicated. A little like she’d felt after inadvertently taking lox. Bright and new.

But the swelling behind her ribs was bittersweet. According to the ledger she’d found that morning, the lox shipment was happening several days before the festival. Either Levan would be in Duncarzus by then, or he’d know beyond all doubt that she was leaking information to the Silvercloaks and eviscerate her accordingly.

No matter what happened, they would not be meeting Erling Tandall together.

Maybe in another world, another timeline. But not this one.

She had to pull herself together.

When she was sure Levan was gone, she brought her wand tip to her mouth, hands shaking from overcasting and overfeeling.

“Et vocos, Elodora Aspar.”