He chuckles at my bluster. For it is, in fact, bluster. His form looks as though it has been personally carved by the gods themselves to torture womankind.
“Please,” I repeat, hand still tight over my eyes.
I hear a heavy sigh. Then, the sound of a large form disturbing the lapping water as he stalks to the edge of the bathing pool. Then…nothing at all. The silence is so complete, I can hear only my own pulse roaring between my ears and the occasional sputter of flame as a warm night breeze disturbs the wall sconces. If he moves, he does so in total stealth.
I very nearly jump out of my skin when he speaks again. His voice comes from less than a pace away. “You can open your eyes now.”
I do not move; I do not trust him.
A large hand manacles my wrist and pulls it from my face. I find myself looking directly into the broad column of Soren’s throat. The golden skin is damp, as is the dark hair that curls around it, the ends nearly kissing his shoulders. It has grown long since I last saw him. My eyes flicker down to examine the thick bath towel slung low on his hips—a meager concession to my request.
“Big of you,” I snap.
His mouth twists. “So I’ve been told.”
“Thetowel,” I clarify, cheeks flaming even redder. “You could’ve put on some breeches, at the very least.”
“People who storm into my private chambers unannounced do not get a say in what I choose to wear—or, more often, not wear.”
I roll my eyes to cover my deep embarrassment. And for a momentary respite from looking at his face. I had somehow forgotten how arresting his features are, how startling he looks up close. On anyone else, such beauty might have a softening effect. Make them more approachable. Somehow, on Soren, it does the opposite. Makes him all the more lethal. Beauty is another weapon in his vast arsenal, each line of his chiseled features designed to ensnare and bewilder his opponents.
But then, the loveliest flowers are often the most poisonous.
“Rhya.” All traces of amusement are gone from his voice. “Delighted as I am to see you here…would you care to explain your rather abrupt arrival through my personal portal?” His pause is intent. “A portal, I might add, only a handful of living souls even know exists?”
Truly?I suck in a soft gasp as I meet his gaze.
He is still holding my wrist. The bones feel very breakablein his grip. “Is an explanation forthcoming, or must I strip to the skin to get you to speak again?”
“I got lost,” I blurt when he starts reaching toward his towel.
He stills. “You got lost.”
“Yes. In the leylines. I was…” I shake my head. “It was foolish. I thought I could take a portal back to Caeldera by myself. I should’ve just gotten on the godsdamned horse like Penn told me to, but I was so angry and—”
I break off before I can spill too many unnecessary details. Soren’s eyes sharpen with curiosity nonetheless—two ocean-blue blades, cutting into me with lethal perception.
“You and Pendefyre are not, perchance, fighting, are you?”
“That is not, perchance, your business, is it?”
His mouth twitches. “Fair enough. But you still have not answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“How did you find yourselfhere? Even if you were lost in the leylines, as you claim, I find it hard to believe you chose this particular portal at random.”
“I never said it was random.” I glower up at him. “Like I told you, I was lost. I was starting to panic, thinking I’d never find my way out. Some of the exit points looked…sick.Some looked dead. But this one looked different—felt different—than the rest.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try anyway.” It is not a request.
“It was…It felt…” I hedge. “Alive.”
“Alive?”