Page 65

Chapter thirty-one

I had been working since dawn on a set of iron candlesticks and a detailed piece of silver art decorated with intricate metal vines and leaves.

It was some asshole’s last-minute gift to his wife for a forgotten twenty-fifth anniversary.

Normally, I wouldn’t waste my energy on some prick’s urgent demands, but he was paying me triple to have it done within the day.

So here I was, a slave to coin and well past any reasonable hour for supper, perfecting my trade for someone who would find my efforts unappreciated.

But a man had to eat.

The coals were white hot, the ashes like a chalky snow that would burn through flesh in fractions of a second. I knew that smell of burnt flesh well enough and had scars here and there to show for it, though it had been a while since I’d gotten too close to the coals.

“Excuse me, sir?”

A woman’s sweet voice broke the silence. That word, directed toward me, had me chuckling. I’d been called many things by many women. Sir was not one of them .

But spoken in that voice, I fucking liked it a little too much.

Generally, I preferred my women like iron and steel—flexible and willing when hot. Quickly chilled with ice-cold words and water when it was all said and done.

I wanted them eager to please and easy to part with. With their asses in the air, hair wrapped around my hands, and their faces effortlessly forgotten. By the way I heard this woman’s bleeding heart in her voice, I could tell she was not for me.

I turned around to the source of that sweet voice with every intention of telling her to get the hell out before she regretted it. I opened my mouth to order her away, because I didn’t like women in my arms. I liked them on their knees.

But one look at her, and I knew she would put me on mine.

My smirk disappeared. The breath left my lungs as if Sussurro himself had reached inside my chest with his golden hand and ripped it right out. A pit—a cavern infinitely deep—formed in my stomach as I searched for adequate words to describe her. There were none, and there never would be.

Her eyes were a deep forest-green speckled with gold, as if the sun was shining through the canopy of her soul.

She had adorable freckles over the bridge of a button nose.

And her silver-blonde locks, bound by a loose, long braid that curled around the curve of her perfect, kissable neck, made me imagine things I would crush the skull of any other man for thinking.

A shiver wracked my body, and I cursed quietly at the new territorial need possessing me.

She wore a dark-violet cloak made of velvet, embroidered with black flowers. Thin, shiny black boots. She came from money, that much was clear. She embodied power and grace. Whatever realm of heaven had dropped her into my blacksmith’s shop was far too good for me .

Panic pressed me to force her away, if only to protect myself from the inevitable attachment that was already rooting in my chest. But I refrained, because within those first seconds, the desire to keep her right where she stood trumped the frantic fear of whatever deep, unknown agony this girl could inflict upon me should she wish.

She was young—too young. No older than seventeen.

But she was mine.

And if I didn’t pursue her… violent flames of fury erupted within me at the thought of another man. Because I knew men—I thought like the worst of them—and they would pursue her, lurch after her like starving sharks to fresh, bloody meat in the water.

I looked down at myself, sweaty and covered in soot. I immediately wished I had stopped working an hour earlier like I originally planned and taken a bath. Impressing a woman was something I’d never given a shit about. The ones I fucked were pretty, but they didn’t require much wooing.

“What’s your name?” she asked, a hopeful look on her stunning, heart-shaped face.

“Smyth,” I replied, realizing I’d tell her anything she asked. She might as well have me in a trance. “Gavin Smyth.”

“Gavin Smyth.” She ran her index finger along the edge of the table I used to shape and carve wood.

My eyes locked on that finger and I immediately wished I was that table.

The gentle, curious look in her eyes proved she was too innocent to put any sexual intent behind her gestures.

But she rounded her mouth and blew the sawdust off her fingertip and into the air.

I thought of all the places I wanted those blushing lips…

Well, fuck me.

“Gavin Smyth, I need you to make me a weapon,” she blurted out. I had to reprocess the words a few times. All I had registered was her full lips in a circular shape and the words I need you coming out of her mouth .

“What kind of weapon?” I demanded a little too harshly, startling us both.

She crossed her arms and rubbed nervously at her elbow. “Something… sharp.”

I cleared my throat and shifted my stance to better hide the one sharp thing I already had for her. I had a feeling that wasn’t what she had in mind.

“Why do you need a weapon?”

Did she not have someone to protect her? Husband? Suitor? Lover?

And could I kill them to make room for myself?

I shuddered. What she stirred in my bones was something foreign, animalistic, and desperate. I wanted to throw my body over her, become her human shield, and then tear her clothes off, free the goddess underneath, and claim her for myself.

She sighed and shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I need you to make me a weapon, and I need you to show me how to use it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do know you can buy yourself any type of blade at more than one place here in this city, don’t you?

Besides, I’m a blacksmith, not a swordsman.

” I pushed back, not because I wasn’t going to do it for her.

I was. I resisted in the hopes that she would reveal more information about herself. Give me a reason to tell her to run.

I wasn’t sure there was a reason strong enough to make me.

“It’s not so much the dagger itself, it’s…” She bit her lip, and tense heat barreled into my cock. “I saw you outside that pub this afternoon, fighting. The other man didn’t stand a chance. You know what you’re doing.”

True. I had spent a good portion of my days roughing people up when they pissed me off. But that man owed me money, and I took what was owed to me. Still, I winced, realizing she had seen that. I hadn’t exactly been merciful. He would be nursing his ribs and jaw back to health for weeks.

“Is your family nearby?” she asked, her fair skin growing more pale. “I—I should have asked that first.” Her green-gold eyes darted nervously around. “I don’t want to bother you if—”

“No family,” I rushed out.

Relief and sadness warred in her beautiful face.

And at the sight of her sadness, an unfamiliar rage simmered in my stomach. Fuck that sadness. Damn it to hell. I never wanted to see it again.

“Listen, I’m not supposed to be here. This is… delicate.” She fidgeted with her thumbs. “I’m asking for help, and I don’t really have anyone else to ask.”

“Don’t ask anyone else. I’ll help you,” I uttered a little too urgently.

I cleared my throat again and forced my posture to relax.

This dark need to possess her—I didn’t know where it came from, but I couldn’t show it, not if I wanted a sliver of a chance with her. “But where are you supposed to be?”

She shook her head. “My family doesn’t like me going anywhere alone.”

I studied the curve of her torso and waist, how the cloak hinted at the delicious shape of her breasts and ass. I could see why anyone who cared about her wouldn’t want her going anywhere alone. I hardly knew her, and I didn’t want her going anywhere alone ever again.

“How old are you?” I asked, flinching as soon as the words left my mouth. Sounding exactly like the predatory asshole I was.

“Sixteen.” She swallowed hard, her beautiful neck pulsing. “And a half.”

Ah, fuck. I knew it.

But it was only three years’ difference. Plenty of sixteen-year-olds were married off to men much older than me. I winced at my own thoughts. Never, not once, had I considered marriage. For good reason—many reasons, actually—I abhorred the idea.

“How old are you?” she asked.

I cleared my throat. “Nineteen.” Less than two months from twenty, but nineteen was still the truth and less likely to scare her off. Hopefully.

She looked around nervously, and my stomach churned at her discomfort.

“You don’t need to be nervous around me,” I blurted out.

And it was true. It didn’t matter how much I lusted after her.

I would cut off my own hands before touching her in a way she didn’t want.

I was rough. Definitely a cold-hearted prick.

But at least I could say I never gave a woman what she didn’t want.

And looking at her, my heart didn’t feel rough or cold at all.

When she smiled, I almost choked on air. The way her green, gold-speckled eyes illuminated with gratitude. That perfectly kissable mouth.

If I hadn’t accepted my fate upon first glance, I only had to see her smile to know I was completely and utterly fucked.

“I’ll make you whatever you need and teach you everything I know, on one condition,” I sputtered. She rubbed her left forearm with her right hand and waited for me to continue. “Let me make you dinner. Tomorrow.”

All of her blood collected in her cheeks in the most adorable display of bashfulness. All of my blood flowed south. I realized that—for the first time—I would punch myself in the gods-damned face for my wolfish thoughts.

“What?” Her voice was high-pitched, surprised.

I suppressed a smile. “I want to see you again.”

“You will.” She twiddled with her thumbs and swallowed. “For the weapon. And…” Her eyes darted to the side. “Training.”

“I want dinner.” I stepped forward. Another first, another thing I’d never bothered to ask a woman for. “With you.”

And more. So much more. But we would start there.

Her mouth parted in shock, but she didn’t object .

“So you’ll be here, then?” It was a great effort not to sound overly excited. “For dinner?”

“Umm.” She looked around nervously again. “I’m not understanding… why?”

I huffed out a breath, failing to contain my grin. She had no clue. She was the most exquisite creature in the world and she had no clue.

“Because you’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

” And I had seen a lot of things. A lot of women in various…

positions . But I decided not to tell her that.

As of the last few minutes, none of them mattered.

“And if you say no, I think it might kill me.” With the way my pulse roared in my ears—like it would explode right out of me—I wasn’t lying.

Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply. That tiny, heavenly noise sent me spiraling through fantasies of what she would sound like with my mouth on her.

I was unhinged.

“Fucking hell,” I growled to myself, shifting my pants at my belt again to try and make my hard-on less obvious. I had been attracted to plenty of women before, but my body had never reacted with so little control. It was mortifying, unruly, and addictive .

“Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. Her gaze remained on my face, thank the gods. She hadn’t noticed, though I still welcomed the undeniable need to submerge my entire body into a bucket of ice just to snap the hell out of it.

“Tomorrow?” I insisted, voice strained. “Will you join me for dinner?”

She looked to the left, then right, and checked the doorway, almost like she was afraid she was being followed. My gut twisted, and I fought the urge to hunt down whatever invisible threat she feared.

One glimpse of terror in those golden-green eyes and I was ready to kill for her.

“Okay.” Her sweet, gentle voice calmed the storm of rage inside me .

“Okay?” I repeated, making sure I’d heard her correctly.

She nodded, then turned to leave.

“Wait!” I panicked, not ready to watch her go. Hating myself for the fact that I had been so preoccupied trying to steady my heartbeat and calm my cock that I’d neglected to ask her name. “You haven’t told me your name.”

She paused in the doorway, her body stiffening.

Without turning back, she rushed out, “You can call me Ella.”