Page 37 of Storm of Shadows

“I’m going to miss my lunch!” I protest because I don’t know what he’s going to do – if this time he really is going to kiss me – and I don’t know what else to say.

“Thralls are given the privilege of eating in the shadow weaver dining hall.”

“Is that meant to entice me?” I spit.

“Entice you?” he says, top lip curling. “It’s just a fact. You know what else is a fact?” I glare at him. “You failed to show up when summoned.”

“Summoned?!” I say in outrage.

“I told you, seven o’clock in our rooms. It was an instruction, not an invitation.”

“Well, maybe it should have been an invitation and then maybe I would have come. You know, you didn’t even ask my name. You didn’t even give me yours.”

“You don’t know my name?” he scoffs, like that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Oh, I suppose I should, should I? Because you’re so fucking special.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I am. So if I tell you to be somewhere, you damn well be there.”

“I don’t want to be a thrall. Anybody’s thrall. Least of all yours!” I push at his chest, my hands meeting a solid wall of muscle beneath his blazer, a solid wall of muscle that does not move. That something in my belly flutters all over again. Whythe hell does he have to be so hot? Why the hell does he have to smell so good?

“You just said you don’t know who I am,” he says, scowling, his face inches from mine.

“Oh, I know enough. I know what your kind is like.”

“My kind?” His frown deepens, cutting heavy lines between his brows. “You mean your betters. Strong, powerful, elite.”

“Yes, your kind. Cruel, callous and conceited.”

“You know a lot.” I scowl at him, lifting my chin in defiance. “Then you should know this: you don’t get a say in this. So be at our rooms at 8pm tonight, understood?” Those silver eyes meet mine and his magic hisses in the air.

I want to tell him to go to hell but in that moment, trapped by the cage of his strong arms, his magic fierce and threatening and his eyes even more so, I can’t find my voice.

He pushes off the wall and strides away.

Only when he’s almost around the corner do I find my voice again, calling after him. “No, no way.”

But the wind howls, carrying my voice away and I doubt he even hears me.

I lean back against the wall. My heart pounds in my chest, and my stomach won’t stop fluttering.

I close my eyes and catch my breath.

It’s been so long since anyone touched me with anything close to kindness, with gentleness, with care. I’d forgotten how good that could feel.

I can still feel his touch against my ankle, against my cheek.

I shake my head.

Shadow weavers aren’t kind. They aren’t gentle. They are cruel and they are selfish.

And as one of the most powerful, Beaufort Lincoln will be one of the worst.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t lost interest. In fact, he just healed my ankle and told me to come to his rooms again.

But, so what?

If this comes down to a battle of wills, he’s going to learn just how damn stubborn I can be.