Page 133 of Stormvein

She stares at me, and I can almost hear her thought process as she debates whether I’m telling her the truth or not. “I’m going with you tomorrow.”

“Ellie—”

“Not with Lisandra. Withyou. Wherever you position yourself to watch.” Her voice carries a finality that tells me arguing will be useless. “If something is going to happen, if you’re walking into something dangerous, then I’m walking into it with you.”

This concession costs me less than she knows. Having her where I can see her, where I can ensure her safety, serves my purpose better than leaving her with the others.

“You will stay within sight at all times. If I tell you to withdraw, you leave immediately. Without question.”

“As long as you’re withdrawing too.”

“Ellie—”

“That’s my condition.” Her chin lifts, and in the moonlight, I can see the silver flecks in her eyes gleaming with determination. “I’m not watching you die again.”

I’m learning fast when arguing with her won’t get me anywhere. This is one of those times. She’s made up her mind, and nothing I say will change it. Ordering her to stay behind will only ensure she follows on her own terms.

“You follow my lead.”

Relief mixes with the determination on her face. “Agreed.”

Her hand finds mine in the darkness, and that spark ignites between us immediately. Yet it’s different from the previous times we’ve been together. More urgent. More desperate. Tomorrow looms with all its danger and uncertainty, making tonight feel like a moment stolen in time.

She leans closer, her breath warm against my cheek, and unable to resist, I turn my head and lift my hand to slide it behind her neck and draw her face toward mine. Our mouths meet with barely restrained hunger, teeth grazing lips, tongues seeking each other. Her body presses against mine, and the warmth of her makes mine heat up.

My shadows respond to my silent command, spiraling outward from my skin in tendrils of darkness that wrap around us both, forming a barrier between us and the sleeping camp.

She pulls her mouth from mine, eyes catching the faint light of the moon as she glances at the darkness enveloping us.

“What’s this?”

“Privacy.” My mouth moves to her throat. “We can’t have the entire camp seeing what I’m about to do to you.”

She laughs softly, and pushes me backward, surprising me with her boldness. Her mouth finds mine again, tongue licking over my lower lip, before kissing her way to my neck, and down to suck against the pulse beating at the base of my throat. A low groan escapes me.

“Someone might hear us,” she whispers.

“Best be quiet then.” I roll her beneath me, capturing her mouth with mine, and letting shadows flow below us to cushion her body above the cold ground.

Pinning her wrists above her head, I let my weight settle against her. Her body arches up into mine, and I lower my mouth to the curve of her throat, sucking at her soft skin before biting down hard enough to make her squirm.

Her tunic is in my way, and I have to release her wrists to pull at the fabric, dragging it upward to expose the skin hidden beneath. She helps, lifting her arms so I can pull it over her head. In the darkness of our shadow cocoon, her skin glows with inner light, silver patterns flowing beneath the surface like liquid metal.

I take my time exploring newly exposed skin, mapping each curve, each hollow with hands and mouth. When my tongue traces the underswell of her breast, her back arches off the shadow bed. When I take a nipple between my teeth, the sound she makes breaks the silence.

I glance up to find her watching me, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Nevaram ishar,” I whisper.Hold the silence.

“What does that mean?” Her back arches when my lips return to her breast.

“It means you can make as much noise as you want now, and no one will hear.”

My hands slide down her stomach, finding the lace of her pants.

She lifts her hips, helping me drag the fabric down her legs. I follow its path with my mouth, pressing kisses to her skin. The curve of her hip, the soft inside of her thigh, a spot behind her knee that makes her squirm. By the time I’ve removed them entirely, she’s shivering beneath me, and not from the cold.

My own clothes feel constricting, too hot against skin that burns for her touch. She seems to sense it, her hands reaching for me, pulling me back up to claim my mouth again. Her fingers work at the fastenings of my shirt, then my breeches, her movements growing more urgent with each passing second.