A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I did not ask for your help.”

  “But you have it nonetheless.”

  “Let me go, and you can get back to your oh-so-important evening plans that apparently do not involve having the common decency to care about senseless murders,” I retorted.

  “There are a couple of things you need to understand,” he drawled, his thumb sliding along my jaw, causing me to stiffen at the unexpected and unfamiliar caress. “You have no idea what my evening plans were, but yes, they were very important. Nor do you know what I do and do not care about.”

  My face scrunched. “Thanks for sharing?”

  “But you are right about one thing,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “There isn’t a decent bone in the entirety of my body. So, no, I do not have this thing you call common decency.”

  “Well, that’s…something to be proud of.”

  “I am,” he agreed. “But I will pretend to be decent right now and let you go. However, if you attempt to run back out there, I will catch you. You will not be faster than me, and the whole thing will just annoy me.”

  His devotion to stopping me—a complete stranger—from getting myself killed actually seemed like a rather decent thing to do. But I wasn’t going to point that out. “Have I given you any indication that I care about annoying you?” I retorted.

  “I have a feeling you don’t. But I’m hoping you discovered whatever smidgen of common sense exists inside you and have decided to use it.”

  My entire body prickled with anger. “That was rude.”

  “Be that as it may, do you understand?” he asked.

  “And if I say no? Will you stand here and hold me all night?” I spat.

  “Since my plans are now shot, I do have some spare time on my hands.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” I snarled.

  “Actually, no.”

  Every part of my being ached with the desire to punch him. Hard. “I understand.”

  “Good. To be honest, my arms were getting tired.”

  Wait. Was he insinuating that I was—?

  He released me, and gods, he was tall. There had to be a good foot between the ground and my feet based on how hard I landed. I stumbled forward, and his hands clasped around my arms, steadying me. Another decent act I was not even remotely grateful for.

  Tearing myself free, I whirled toward him as I reached for my dagger.

  “Now you’ve got to be kidding me.” The male sighed, snapping forward.

  He was as fast as a strike of lightning, catching my wrist before I could even free my blade. I gasped. Dressed in all black, he was nothing more than a thick shadow. He yanked me toward his chest as he spun us, forcing me back. Within a few too-quick heartbeats, he had me trapped again, this time between the vine-covered wall and his body.

  “Dammit.” I leaned back, lifting my right leg—

  “Can we not do this?” He shifted, simultaneously wedging a thigh between mine and catching my other wrist, bringing my hands together.

  I fought, using every ounce of strength I had as he lifted my hands, stretching my arms above my head and then pinning my wrists to the wall. Flowers broke free, raining down on us. I drew up my other leg. I just needed to get space—

  “I’ll take that as a no.” He leaned in then, pressing his body to mine.

  I froze. Air lodged in my throat. There didn’t seem to be a part of me that wasn’t in contact with him. My legs. Hips. Stomach. Breasts. I could feel him, his hips against my stomach, his stomach and lower part of his chest against my breasts—his skin through his clothing, cool as the first touch of autumn. My senses were a chaotic mess as I forced air into my lungs—a breath that was fresh and citrusy. I couldn’t even smell the sweet peas beyond his scent. No one—not even Sir Holland or anyone I fought who knew what I was—got this close to me.

  I hadn’t seen his other hand move, but I felt it slide behind my head, becoming an immovable wedge between me and the wall. “There’s something I need you to understand.” His whisper filled with tendrils of darkness again. “While I’m not suggesting you don’t attempt to fight me—you do whatever you feel you need to—you should know that you will not win. Ever.”

  There was a finality to his words that sent a tremor through my captured hands. I tipped my head back and looked up…and up. He was well over a foot taller than me, maybe even as tall as the Primal of Death was. A shiver of unease prickled the nape of my neck. Most of his face was cast in shadow, and all I could see was the hard line of his jaw. When his head tilted into a slice of moonlight, I saw him.

  This man was…he was absolutely, without a doubt, the most stunning man I’d ever seen. And I’d seen some gorgeous men. Some from here within Lasania, and others from kingdoms that stretched into the east. Some had finer, more symmetrical features than the one holding me to the wall, but none were put together so perfectly, so…sensually as this man’s. Even in the moonlight, his skin was a lustrous, golden-brown color, reminding me of wheat. His cheekbones were high and broad, his nose straight as a blade, and his mouth…it was full and wide. He had the kind of face an artist would love to shape with clay or capture with charcoal. But there was also a coldness to his features. As if the Primals themselves had crafted the lines and planes and forgot to add the warmth of humanity.

  I looked up to his eyes.

  Silver.

  Eyes that were an incredible, luminous shade of silver, bright as the moon itself. Beautiful. That was all I could think at first, and then…I saw the light behind his pupils, the wispy tendrils of eather.

  “You’re a god,” I whispered.

  He said nothing while instinct fired through me, urging me to either submit or run—and to do either of those two things fast. It was a warning, a reckoning that screamed I wasn’t even inches away from one of the most dangerous predators in any realm.

  But I…I couldn’t get over how he looked no more than a handful of years older than me, somewhere between Ezra’s and Tavius’s ages. That most likely wasn’t the case. He could be centuries older. But other than the night I was to be married, I’d never been this close to a being from Iliseeum before. It unnerved me how young he appeared.

  It struck me then that I’d tried to kick a god—multiple times. I’d tried to stab a god.

  And he…he hadn’t struck me down.

  He hadn’t even hurt me. All he’d done was stop me from harming myself. And, well, now he was holding me here. Still, he could’ve done much, much worse.

  Could that mean that he was from the Shadowlands Court and answered to the Primal of Death? My stomach tumbled. I had no idea if any of the gods that served the Primal of Death knew about me since any deal struck between a mortal and a god was known only to those two, but this deal had been different. It was quite possible that every god within the Shadowlands knew that the Primal had a Consort he hadn’t claimed, even though he’d bartered for one.

  Thick, wavy hair fell against this god’s cheeks as he dipped his head. His gaze snared mine, and I couldn’t look away—not even if the Primal of Death himself appeared beside us. Not when the wisps of eather swirled through the silver of his eyes.

  My throat tightened, but it was a surreal feeling to have someone look upon my face so intently. After seventeen years of wearing the Veil of the Chosen, I wasn’t used to it. Being so seen left me feeling…vulnerable, which was why I opted to keep my face hidden beneath a hood whenever I wasn’t around my mother, who now preferred that my face be shown as if it were a reminder of my failure. As silly and nonsensical as it was, a sense of wonder bubbled up.

  “Fuck,” he murmured.

  A tripping motion went through my chest. Did he know who I was? If so, how was that possible? I’d been kept so hidden. Not even the Shadow Priests had ever seen my face while knowing who I was. “What?”

  His gaze flicked over my features so intensely that each and every freckle across my nose and cheek started to tingle. His eyes closed briefly,
and as close as we were to each other, I could see just how thick the fringe of his lashes was as they swept back up. “Every mortal knows better than to interfere with a god.”

  I swallowed hard, feeling all the building wonder collapse. “I do know. But—”

  “They killed an innocent,” he cut me off and glanced up toward the entrance of the vine tunnel. “You still know better.”

  My fingers curled helplessly in his grasp. I knew I shouldn’t talk back. I should thank him for his aid—help I didn’t ask for—and then put as much distance between us as possible. But that wasn’t what I did. It was like I had no control over my mouth. And maybe that was the recklessness that Sir Holland bemoaned every chance he got. Maybe it was that small part of me that had stopped caring. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the fact that they killed an innocent child than what I was about to do?” I demanded. “Or do you not care because you’re a god?”

  Those eyes burned even brighter. Dread blossomed in the pit of my stomach, and a trickle of fear entered my blood. Mortals did not talk back to a god. I also knew that. “Those three will pay for what they’ve done. You can be assured of that.”

  A chill erupted over my skin, despite him not acknowledging my ill-advised behavior. He spoke as if he had the power and authority to carry that out. As if he wanted to see to it personally.

  His attention snapped in the direction of the lane again, and then his gaze met mine. “They’re coming,” he warned.

  Before I could say a word, he lowered my arms and let go. There wasn’t time to make use of the freedom. The god grasped my hips and lifted me off my feet, sliding a hand down the bare length of my left thigh. He hooked my left leg around his waist. A ripple of shock whipped through me. What in the—?

  “Wrap your other leg around me,” he commanded quietly against the side of my head. “You do not want them to see you.”

  I didn’t know if it was his ominous tone or how unbalanced his hold and touch had left me, but I obeyed. Curling my right leg around his waist, I gripped the front of his shirt, suspecting that he didn’t want to be seen by them, either. “If you try anything…” I warned.

  His head dipped, and I sucked in a startled breath as I felt his lips curve into a smile against my cheek. They were as cool as the rest of him. “You’ll do what?” he whispered. “Go for that weapon on your thigh again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you know you wouldn’t be fast enough to deliver a blow.”

  My grip on his shirt tightened. “Yes.”

  He chuckled softly, and I felt it from my hips to my breasts. “Shh.”

  Had he just shushed me? My entire body went as tight as a bowstring. The bridge of his nose coasted over the curve of my cheek, and I went taut for an entirely different reason. His lips were near mine, brushing just the corner of my mouth. A riot of sensations rocketed through me, a wild mix of disbelief, anger, and something like the anticipation I felt when I entered The Jade. I couldn’t understand that. This wasn’t the same. I didn’t know this male. It didn’t matter that many mortals would eagerly exchange places with me as we were often drawn to gods like night-blooming roses were to the moon. But one such as he was dangerous. He was a predator, no matter how beautiful or benevolent he was.

  But it was so rare that anyone got this close to me and allowed their skin to encounter mine. To touch me. Those who did had been strangers, too. Except when they touched me, I wasn’t really me. I was as nameless as they often were when I let them pull me into shadowy alcoves or behind closed doors and into rooms where things weren’t meant to last. Where I wore a veil even though my face was bare.

  But I felt like me in this moment. More than I had in years.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered.

  My temper flared. I hated being told what to do. And if I were being honest, that had started long ago. Maybe that was one of the reasons I’d been rejected. But his demand made sense. It would appear quite odd for us to just stand here like this, doing nothing but glaring at each other.

  So, I kissed him.

  A god.

  The contact of my mouth against his caused my stomach to pitch like it did when I came too close to the edges of the Cliffs of Sorrow. His lips were cool, but they were somehow soft yet firm, a strangely enticing juxtaposition as they moved against mine. It was the only thing about him that moved. His mouth. The hand on my left thigh and the one on my hip remained still. He was motionless, and I didn’t know why I did what I did next. Could’ve been that impulsivity. Could’ve been my irritation over being in this situation. Could’ve been how still he was. And if I were being completely honest with myself, it could’ve been the possibility that he was from the Shadowlands and served the Primal who’d stolen every chance I had to save my kingdom. All those reasons were probably wrong, but I didn’t care.

  I caught his lower lip between my teeth and bit down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but his entire body jerked, and then he wasn’t still any longer.

  The god pushed in as his head tilted, deepening the kiss. Nothing about his mouth was soft then. He parted my lips with a fierce stroke of his tongue, and a tight shudder rolled through me at the sharp graze against my lower lip. His teeth. Fangs. Oh, gods, I’d somehow forgotten about that. Fear lit my veins because I knew how sharp they were. I knew what a god could do with them. But something else entered my blood, a wicked and decadent, heady thrill as I flicked my tongue over his. He tasted of something woodsy and smoky—like whiskey. A sound came from him, deep within his throat, and it sent my heart to pounding.

  The hand on my thigh curled, his fingers pressing into my skin, becoming an icy brand that somehow scorched my flesh. A wild shiver shimmered through me as his hand left my hip and worked its way between the wall and the back of my head. His fingers curled into my hair, surely loosening the pins keeping my braid in place. I really didn’t care as he drew my head back, as he…kissed me like he wouldn’t allow a single part of my mouth to go unexplored. As if he’d been waiting for ages to do this. I knew that was a silly, whimsical thought, but I kissed him back, utterly forgetting why we were doing this, and only vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps and the deep laughter of an intruder—of the god.

  Were all kisses from a god as dangerously intoxicating as this one? That too-faint smidgen of common sense told me I should be worried. What if the Primal did come for me? What if he changed his mind, and I had kissed one of his gods? I should care, but instead I kissed the god even harder because I refused to think about that damn Primal. I let myself exist in the moment.

  This felt chaotic, like when I slipped under the surface of the lake and stayed until my lungs burned, and my heart raced, just to see how far I could push myself.

  And I felt that now—that need to see how far I could push this. I slid my hands up his shirt, over his chest. The edges of his hair brushed my knuckles. I sank my fingers into the silky strands and pulled him closer. I tipped my hips against his lower stomach. The hand on my thigh slid up and around, over the curve of my ass. The thin undergarment was no barrier against the press of his hand.

  He squeezed the flesh there, wringing a gasp from me as he slid his tongue over mine. He drew my lower lip between his teeth and nipped. I cried out at the elicit shock of pleasure and the pain thrumming through my body. His tongue flicked over my lip, soothing the biting sting.

  Then his mouth was gone. His forehead rested against mine, and for a handful of seconds, there was nothing but silence between us. Nothing but my pounding heart and his shallow breaths as his hand slid back to my hip. Another moment passed, and then he slowly lowered me to my feet. I forced my fingers to open, to let go of his hair. My hands fell to his chest once more.

  Under my palm, his heart beat as fast as mine.

  I opened my eyes as the seconds ticked by. He remained there, his forehead against mine, one of his hands still a shield between my head and the wall.

  “You,” he murmured, his voice sultry and thick. “You w
ere quite convincing.”

  “So were you,” I said, a bit breathlessly.

  “I know. I’m very skilled at pretending.”

  Pretending? Pretending to do what? Enjoy himself? Kissing me? My eyes narrowed as I shoved him away.

  He stepped back, laughing softly as he ran a hand over his head, dragging his hair back from his face.

  I stepped away from the wall, turning my attention to the darkened pathway, but I saw nothing in the filtered moonlight. I lifted a finger to my still-throbbing lips, then withdrew it and looked down to see a spot of darkness on the tip of my finger. He’d…

  He’d drawn blood.

  My head snapped up. “You—”

  The god stepped in, folding his hand around my wrist. He lifted my arm, and before I could even wonder what he was about, his mouth closed over my finger, and he sucked. I felt the hard pull in a most shameful way—all the way to my core in a rush of hot, damp heat.

  Good gods…

  Slowly, he drew his mouth from my finger as his gaze flicked up, catching mine. “My apologies. I should’ve elaborated. I’m very good at pretending to enjoy things I do not, but I was not pretending when I had your tongue in my mouth.”

  I stood there as he released my wrist, at an utter loss for what to say for several seconds. “It…it’s very inappropriate to take my blood,”—I heard myself saying—“when I don’t even know your name.”

  “That was the only inappropriate thing about what just occurred?”

  “Well, no. There was a whole lot of inappropriate in there.”

  He chuckled again, the sound rich like dark chocolate. I eyed him. Maybe I was wrong about who he served, or at the very least, he had no knowledge of who I truly was. If he did, I doubted he would’ve kissed me. I started to ask if he knew who I was but stopped, realizing I had to be careful in case he didn’t.

  “Why did you stop me from going after those gods?” I asked, curling my hand—and the finger that had been in his mouth.

  His brows pinched. “Do I need a reason other than stopping someone from getting themselves killed?”