Page 30 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

The stillness stretches, heavier than I expected to feel with his absence.

My eyes linger where he vanished for a long moment as I try to make peace with not just my own growing feelings for Torryn and Sylvin, but the ones they freely offer me.

Should it feel like my gut is sinking when I say goodbye to them?

There’s no response from the earth to confirm or deny, and I inhale deeply, focusing back on the knowledge that I had to leave them behind here for a task more important than whatever it is budding between us.

Riven doesn’t speak as I turn my focus to him, trying to ground myself in what I need to do moving forward.

He watches me, eyes glowing bright red in the gloom, and I shift my weight under his gaze, not out of fear, but from the raw emotions swirling in me. The ache of it pulses quietly in my chest as I think of the hurt in Sylvin’s gaze with Riven’s words.

“I really wish you would all stop talking down on each other,” I say softly, but hopefully with enough edge to make the words land. “It isn’t right, especially when you’re supposedly allies in a war.”

One of the nearby vampires gasps lightly, as if surprised I’ve spoken to their king that way.

Riven’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“You think that was talking down?” he scoffs. “That was restraint, darling.”

I cross my arms and huff. “It hurt him. Don’t pretend you didn’t see it.”

A long pause follows as his lips thin into a straight line.

“I did,” he finally admits, quieter now. “For the first time, his walls actually fell.”

He tilts his head, assessing me with curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Do you always have that effect on people that quickly?” he murmurs. “It’s been what, twenty-four hours he was in your presence?”

It’s not a jab or insult, just an observation.

“Maybe,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m sure you’re about to find out that answer with me here. The clock is ticking.”

That earns a flicker of amusement, or maybe approval, in his eyes. It’s hard to decipher.

Around us, the vampires draw closer, stealing my focus as alarm bells flare to life in my head. Their numbers have at least tripled since the last time I looked at them.

Groupings of men and women dressed in shades of red and black gather along the road, eyes gleaming with interest that unsettles me.

One man with hair the color of ash leans slightly forward, nostrils flaring delicately before a slow smile curls across his lips.

I feel it then, pressing in from all sides. That restrained hunger. The danger.

The wraiths looked down on me.

The shifters welcomed me, but kept their distance.

The fae...they were a study in contradiction–arrogant and cold, until Summer warmed my soul.

But the vampires?

They look at me like I’m the most delectable thing they’ve ever laid eyes on.

It’s a wholly unnerving change .

Every inhale they take, every lingering glance at my neck, feels like a slow, patient pursuit, as if they’re waiting for permission. Or perhaps they wait for a flash of weakness.

I take a small step closer to Riven, even as my chin lifts in defiance.

His mouth curves slightly as I glance up at him.

“I don’t know what’s more dangerous,” I murmur, voice lower now, meant only for him, though I’m sure the rest hear it, “being here…or how it feels to be near you. ”

His pupils lengthen into slits as his throat bobs with a swallow.

“Tell me more,” he rumbles.

My breath catches on a slow inhale.

“I’ve been simultaneously looking forward to and fearing being here,” I say softly, lifting my eyes to meet his.

Riven’s gaze lingers on mine, then dips briefly to trace the flutter of my pulse at my throat before returning–steady, unblinking, and all-consuming.

Despite the fear spiking within me and my mind telling me the vampires around us would bleed me dry in a split second, it’s his focus that makes my body shake. The unyielding thought within my mind that he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt any of them who dared to touch me.

That he thinks of me as his .

“You’re trembling,” he observes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I murmur, and I mean it.

He studies me in that intensely quiet way he always does, like he’s peeling back every layer.

“No,” he says quietly, “you’re afraid of what it means to want me.”

Heat flushes my skin, though the air around us stays cool.

It’s not his fangs I fear, nor his power over this nest. It’s the way he looks like I could push him to his knees on the street and tell him to worship me for all of these vampires to witness.

And the worst part? A piece of me wants that.

He steps closer, erasing any distance between us, and I have to tip my head back just to keep his gaze. I feel the material of his pants brush lightly against my thigh.

My breath stalls, yet my body presses closer to his. The heady feeling of anticipation curls through me.

His hand lifts slowly until his thumb grazes the curve of my cheek with a touch so gentle it feels like reverence. I lean into it without thinking, drawn by something deeper than reason.

He tilts his head down toward mine, and my world tilts with him.

Desire blooms within me and the insatiable need to feel his lips follows.

His mouth lingers just above mine, and the waiting nearly undoes me. The tension, thick and thrumming, coils in my core, desperate to be released. I can feel the faint whisper of his breath against my lips.

Every part of me aches with the pull of him and the way his hand cradles my face like I’m precious to him.

His thumb lingers just beneath my cheekbone, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me.

Then quietly, he murmurs, “I wonder which of us will fall to ruin first in your time here.”