More than once, I caught myself losing track of our conversation as Casimir ran a hand through his curls or laughed at something I said. It wasn’t my fault he was so nice to look at. The fire was stiflingly warm, and together with the alcohol and my hyperawareness of Casimir’s proximity, I began to feel overheated.
“I should be getting back…” I said idly, not meeting his eye.
“It’s nearly quarter past two in the morning—and besides, I’m not entirely sure it’s safe to return to your dormitory just yet.”
I frowned. “How long could it possibly take for them to search my dorm?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt they’ve finished searching, but I wouldn’t put itpast Devereaux not to post one of his dogs in your room to wait for your return.”
Despite the warmth permeating from the fire, a shudder ran down my spine as my mind conjured the image of Evren seated upon Gwen’s bed, his cruel gaze trained on the door. Waiting.
“I suppose you have a point,” I conceded.
“So, you’ll stay the night?” Casimir inquired.
“I… yes.” I swallowed thickly.
The cryptic look he gave me was laced with some emotion I couldn’t immediately identify; and yet I was certain there was something dangerous lurking there.
I turned away, knowing the way my blood heated beneath my skin had little to do with the overzealous fire crackling away in the hearth.
Casimir poured himself a measure of whiskey, allowing the amber liquid to swirl in the bottom of the glass, never once taking his eyes off me. “Have you had a chance to consider my earlier question, Farrow?” he asked suddenly.
I glanced over at him in confusion. “What question?”
He arched a graceful brow. “Whether you’ve figured out what it is you want?”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak, as if my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. The heat of his body so close to mine sent jolts of electricity shooting down my abdomen to coil low in my core. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting a sudden, wild impulse to reach out and drag my fingers through his dark curls, to trace the curve of his jaw and taste the hollow of his throat. The sharp ache of my need centered my swirling thoughts.
The thing was, I knew what I wanted.
I wantedhim.
Not the Darkseer, not the traitor or the Daemon rebel. Just him, just Casimir. Knowing this made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. But maybe, just this once, that didn’t have to be a bad thing.
Casimir took in my troubled expression, and after a moment, he gave a curt nod and averted his gaze. “It’s fine,” he said, turning back to his whiskey.
His dismissal hit me like a punch to the gut. He’d given up on me. I’d missed my moment to tell him.
“There’s no reason…” he paused, searching for words. “Never mind. You should just get some rest.”
“No!” I blurted out. Blood rushed to my cheeks.
Casimir stared at me. Probably wondering if I’d finally lost my mind. “No? You don’t want to sleep?—?”
I shut my eyes. Goodgods, he was making this difficult. “No,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I mean, I do know what I want.”
He looked bewildered. “You do?”
I sighed in exasperation. “Yes. I do.”
I’d had enough of this. Enough of the constant turmoil over whether I wanted to kill him or crush my lips against his, enough of anger and desire and uncertainty. Every touch, every kiss felt long overdue. The need to touch him was like a searing agony after all these weeks of flirting and fighting. But most of all, I needed to get Casimir out of my system. I couldn’t think around him, and I needed to keep my wits about me if I had any hope of surviving this weekend.
Before he could ask any more inane questions, I spoke again. “I just need to not think for a while.”
Casimir watched me with a wary expression that turned into one of surprise when I leaned over and kissed him. He returned the kiss tentatively, but when I fisted my hand in his sweater to pull him closer, he stopped and drew back. “Arden, are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice rough.
I met his gaze through heavy lids, feeling dizzy. Hearing my first name on his lips still felt jarringly intimate, and every nerve in mybody was tingling, on the edge of bursting. He traced the bloom on my cheek with the back of his knuckle, his eyes darker than obsidian. It was like staring into the bottom of the sea. I wanted to drown myself in him.