Page 31 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he silence still stretches between us, thick with tension neither of us moves to break.

Then my stomach growls.

Loudly.

The sound echoes in the quiet like a betrayal, and I blink up at him, embarrassed heat rushing to my cheeks.

Riven doesn’t laugh outwardly, but his lips twitch, and the gleam in his eyes shifts from hunger to a softer, understanding one.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice low and rumbling, “I suppose we’ll have to take care of that hunger before I take care of anything else you may need.”

I narrow my eyes. “Was that supposed to sound suggestive? ”

His fangs extend to press against his full lower lip. “Would it make you blush if it was?”

I hate how easily words alone can rile me up in his presence. It’s a power in and of itself, outside of magical abilities.

“If there’s any blush to my skin, it’s from the humidity," I mutter, folding my arms over my chest like that might hide the heat blooming in my face.

I cannot let him know how quickly he gets to me. I’ll never know peace if he realizes I can be swayed so easily.

His smile deepens, and before I can blink, I’m suddenly cradled in his arms with my hands around his neck.

“Sure, darling. Whatever you say,” he murmurs, letting me sit with my delusions that I’ve fooled him.

My hands instinctively fall to his shirt, feeling the tension in his muscled chest beneath as he turns with me nestled against him. I inhale his nearness, the scent of smoke, cloves, and cardamom dizzying up close.

I watch his red gaze flick back to the gathered vampires, who have only grown in number and proximity, watching us with that strange, patient intensity.

“If any of you touch her,” he says, voice quiet but lethal, “you won’t live long enough to explain yourselves. Spread the word to the other nests.”

No one answers or moves, and apparently that’s all he feels he needs to say, because the next second, the world is a blur around us.

The wind whips past my face in a rush of cold air and shadowed stone as Riven moves, impossibly fast, the streets flashing by in fractured glimpses. I can’t catch more than vague shapes and shadows until he comes to a harsh stop inside a building.

It’s jarring and my body recoils against his abruptness, my hands clenching his shirt for dear life.

I force my hands to relax and let go as I take in the arched entryway flanked by crimson-draped columns.

The ceilings are vaulted arches that disappear into shadow and the floor beneath his boots gleams like polished marble.

Above us, iron chandeliers hold burning candles that cast the room in flickering warm light.

The beauty is grand and unapologetic. You either admire it, or you hate it–I’ve never seen anything like it.

None of the other courts had this–even the darkness in the wraith palace, shadowed and echoing, felt dull. This place feels like every inch of the home is alive and watching.

Riven finally begins to move again as I try to wiggle from his grip.

“We aren’t to our destination yet, darling,” he mutters as he carries me deeper into the home. “I need to carry you through the room’s door for the first time.”

I let out a breath and nod, unsure why he wants to do that, but not caring enough to argue it. This time I’m prepared as he speeds through the building, carrying me like I weigh nothing through the gothic hush, and into a room that steals what little breath I had left at the end.

Black silk hangs delicately, draped from the high canopy bed, pooling onto the floor at each corner. The sheets are the same soft, shining material and are illuminated by dozens of black candles burning in nearby candelabras.

Riven finally sets me down beside the bed, his hands slow to leave my waist as he takes a step back.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he says, already turning away.

I blink at him, still adjusting to the sudden stillness and being on my own two feet. “You don’t have to–”

He’s gone before I finish the sentence, a breeze stirred in his wake as he disappears into a conjoined room.

A moment later, I hear water running, the low sound of glass clinking, and the faint hiss of a flame lighting.

My hand runs along the silk of the bed absentmindedly as I glance around, waiting for him to return. For as intimate and luxurious the room is, I feel out of place or like I’m trespassing, causing me to resist the urge to walk around the large room.

Riven reappears, sleeves now rolled to the elbow, dark hair tousled like he ran a wet hand through it. He nods once toward the open door. “The bath is ready. I’ll have food and clothes ready for you by the time you’re finished.”

He turns to leave again without waiting for a single word from me, and I quickly reach out to stop him.

“You didn’t have to put me in such a nice room,” I say quietly as he glances down at my hand on him. “I don’t need all of this.”

His lips tilt into a smirk as he turns back to face me fully. He takes my raised hand into his own before pressing a kiss to the top, his eyes glancing over my knuckles to hold mine.

“You think I put you in a random room?” he murmurs. “Darling, this is my room.”

A low laugh escapes him and my skin instantly pebbles at the rich sound.

Then he disappears, leaving me slack-jawed and staring at the closed door he exited through.

This is his room.

The thought echoes quietly in my chest. I’d shared a room with Torryn, but where he was hesitant, Riven is entirely sure. There will be no questioning whether I’m sure, just the utter confidence that he knows this is exactly where I want to be.

The thought makes me huff, but his assurance isn’t completely off-base. I’ve never held my tongue if I don’t agree with something, so my silence tells him all he needs to know.

My fingers trail along the silk one last time before I cross the room and step barefoot into the adjoining space. The moment I enter, heat wraps around me, and my shoulders slump.

Steam coils along the tiled walls and gathers on the mirror above the long, black vanity. A porcelain tub, wide and deep enough for two, waits for me. I glance down at myself and feel a small sense of embarrassment at how dirty I am from my journey through the fae courts today.

“Yet he seemed completely blind to the grime,” I mutter as I undress, thinking of the way Riven’s eyes had practically devoured me on the spot.

The dress I wore through the fae courts is dusted with dried earth and old sweat, the hem frayed from brambles and roots. I hadn’t noticed how grimy I felt until now and how heavy my body had become beneath it all.

Somehow Sylvin and Riven never made me feel anything less than beautiful.

My head shakes of its own accord. “What is it with these kings? ”

When I lower into the water, my breath leaves me in a slow exhale.

It’s hotter than I expected, not scalding enough to blister my skin, but enough to make me hiss. Almost instantly, the heat begins to chase the ache from my muscles, and the initial sting is a long-forgotten memory.

I close my eyes and fall into the lull of comfort this moment provides. There are no questions, kings, or expectations. Just the water enveloping my body and the soft flicker of candlelight along the walls.

For a moment, I think about the impending battle. I wonder if I’ll ever see Ilyria’s threads again, with a chance to help now that I know what happens. One by one, each of the kings roll through my mind, and I wonder what each of them is doing.

The warmth pulls at me slowly as my exhaustion finally silences my thoughts. My limbs feel heavy beneath the water and my conscience begins to drift, slipping away from me.

The glow of the candles fades behind my eyelids as they droop.

I don’t hear footsteps or register movement, but I feel him.

I blink my eyes open slowly, just in time to see his silhouette kneel at the edge of the tub .

“Wren,” he murmurs. “You can’t sleep in the bathtub, darling. It’s dangerous.”

The sound of my name on his lips draws a small smile to my face.

“I wasn’t asleep,” I whisper through the haze, “and how would you even know, unless you were staring at me from a corner again?”

He says nothing, just leans in and slides one arm behind my back, the other beneath my knees, moving so slowly I could stop him if I wanted, but I don’t. I’m starting to enjoy the feeling of being in his arms, held so protectively like I’m the most cherished thing in his life.

The water shifts around me as he lifts me free, cradling me against his chest for just a moment before he places me on my feet. The towel he must have prepared is already waiting, warm and soft as he wraps it securely around me, careful to shield every inch of skin.

His hands don’t linger. Not on the curve of my thigh, not on the dip of my waist. He moves with clinical precision as he dries me, but I hear the way his breath hitches faintly near my ear.

“You need to eat before you sleep,” he says softly before sweeping me back into his arms.

I swallow instinctively as my hunger reignites in my stomach at the reminder.

He sets me gently on the edge of the bed, with a soft command to get dressed before he disappears. The door clicks softly shut behind him, but the echo of his presence lingers in the warmth of the towel still pressed against my skin.

I exhale slowly, gathering the scattered pieces of myself he so easily breaks me into every time I’m near him.

My gaze turns toward the foot of the bed where a folded set of clothes rests, blending with the bedsheets. A soft pair of sleep shorts and a matching tank wait for me, delicate and thin as I run my fingers along them.

It takes only a few minutes to dry off the areas Riven was respectful to avoid and slide into the silk.

It fits perfectly, almost like it was made for me, though I’m sure that’s impossible.

The fabric brushes softly over my skin as I return to the bedroom, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress, unsure of where to wait.