Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?” I bristle. His memory must be faulty, because I’m the one who’s been the fool for him.
“Let me get this out.” He glances at my mouth. “I’ll kiss you whenever you want because my self-control is shit where you’re involved—”
“Whenever I want?” My brows shoot up. What the hell is happening right now?
“Yes, whenever you want, because I’ll live with my mouth attached to yours if I do it whenever I want.” He retreats a couple of steps, and I immediately miss the feel of his hands, the warmth of his skin. “But I’m begging you, Violet. Don’t offer me your body unless you’re offering me everything. I want you more than I want to fuck you. I want those three little words back.”
I stare at him, my mouth dropping open slightly. He’s not asking to hear that I want him. He wants to hear that I love him.
“It’s new territory for me, too.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “No one is more surprised than I am, trust me.”
“I’m sorry, but weren’t you the one last year who said we could have all the sex we wanted as long as we kept feelings out of it?” I fold my arms across my chest.
“See? Fucking fool.” He looks up at the rough-beamed ceiling like it has the answers. “Last year, I would have used any method it took to win you back, but for those three days you were unconscious, all I did was sit there and watch you sleep, thinking of everything I would have done differently.” Determination is etched on every line of his face when he brings his gaze back to mine. “This is me doing things differently.”
Somehow in the last month, we’ve managed to switch roles.
“This is me proving myself to you.” He steps back and pulls the door open, gesturing for me to walk out first, then rests his hand on the small of my back as we walk down the hall. “We’re not there yet, but you’ll trust me again at some point.”
“Sure, as soon as you agree to stop keeping secrets from me.” How the hell is this my fault?
His sigh sounds like it’s ripped out of his very soul. “You need to trust me even with secrets for this to work.”
I grab onto the stair railing and take the stairs two at a time. “That’s not going to happen.”
“It will,” he says as we near the ground floor, then changes the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“I need to wash up first.” My nose crinkles. “Pretty sure I smell like I’ve been flying eight hours.”
“Why don’t you head on into my room, and I’ll bring food.” His hand slips from my lower back as we make our way into his barracks room. He points to the left and says, “That door leads to a private bathing chamber.”
“There’s no way you got a private bathing chamber as a brand-new lieutenant,” I sputter. “Mira doesn’t even have one.”
“You’d be amazed what you can get when no one wants to share space with Fen Riorson’s son,” he answers quietly.
My stomach sinks. I can’t think of a single thing to say to that.
“Don’t look so sad. Garrick has to share with four other riders. Go.” He motions to the door again. “I’ll be right back.”
An hour later, I’m clean and fed, and Xaden is sitting at his desk, fiddling with something that looks like a crossbow but smaller, as I sit on his bed and run a brush through my damp hair. I can’t help but smile at the steady feeling of what’s becoming routine, Xaden preparing a weapon while I sit on a bed.
“But they didn’t search Tairn?” he asks without looking up.
“Nope, just dumped my stuff on the ground.” My gaze catches momentarily on a palm-size gray stone with a decorative black rune on his nightstand before I spot a piece of grass that made the journey here from the flight field and flick it off my arm. “Did they search Sgaeyl?”
He shakes his head. “Only me. And Garrick. And every other new lieutenant leaving Basgiath with a rebellion relic.”
“They know you’ve been smuggling something out.” I lean over the edge of the high bed and drop my brush into my bag. “Toss me a sharpening stone.”
“They suspect.” He reaches into the top right drawer of his desk, taking out the heavy, gray sharpening stone. He leans over to hand it to me, careful not to brush his fingers along mine, and then goes back to tinkering with his weapon.
“Thank you.” I grip the stone, then take the first knife from my thigh sheath and begin sharpening. They’re only as good as they are honed. But no amount of busying my hands is going to make the next question any easier to ask without feeling like I’m now the one keeping things from Xaden.