I close my eyes and try to rest, but her hand is quite distracting. I lift it to my chest instead. In her sleep she prods her nails into my skin and I think it’s the sexiest and most adorable thing I’ve ever experienced. Then again, I’d thought the same thing when she was cooking earlier. And when my mouth was on her thigh, her hands pulling at my hair. And again when she licked brownie batter. Let’s backtrack to the bit about her thigh . . .
Don’t think about that, mate.
Don’t think about the scent of warm pears that surrounded you like cognac.
Don’t think about the silk of her skin against your tongue, how close you were to that place of hers where nobody else has been.
Don’t think about the sounds of her moans, how you were just about to blow her ever-loving mind, or how you couldn’t wait to catch her when her knees buckled as her whole body trembled with pleasure.
Definitely do not think of that.
I shove the heel of my hand against my eye and will away the images.
Damned hilt.
No, I’m not perfect when I’m with Anna. I still experience thoughts about every filthy, sexy thing imaginable. That’s everyday life for me. But she makes me wonder what it would be like to make love. She makes me want to take my time with every millimeter of her body in the most maddening way until she’s begging for more.
I let out a quiet sigh.
She makes me want more from life. Things I’m not bloody allowed to want. Things I can never give her. I conceded tonight to be her boyfriend. Okay, to be honest, it was my idea because it’s the one thing I can give her—my heart and my loyalty. I asked if we could be together, and the way she lit up about attaching that label to our relationship made me both joyful and sad, because she deserves more.
I took her to band practice with me tonight, which was awesome, aside from that awkward moment when Anna Malone got jealous and stormed out. Otherwise, it felt amazing to be out with Anna, sharing my life with her. But she deserves a boyfriend who can openly claim her on a daily basis, not just when the demons are away. And that is why fury will always live inside me. Anna might be too good, too measured, to be angry about our circumstances, but I’m not.
I crack open an eye and glare at the hilt for good measure. Then I hold my girl closer, glad we took this chance to be together. I won’t think about tomorrow yet.
When I finally let myself relax again, sleep almost immediately pulls me under.
There is pure terror in Anna’s eyes when her father rings at the arse-crack of dawn. I don’t know if she’s more afraid that Belial’s sending me on a mission with Kope or that he’s sending me on a mission at all. One of our Neph allies, the daughter of Duke Sonellion, has been thrown in prison for lewd conduct. It’s not looking good for Zania. In the conservative Middle Eastern town where she’s being held, she’s likely to be publicly beaten and executed, or sold into slavery. Her father refuses to save her since she’s given in to her alcohol addiction and seems to be of no further use to his cause.
I want to wipe the fear from Anna’s eyes, but I can’t make promises. I can’t promise I won’t punch Kope when I see him. Nor can I promise we’ll be safe in Syria. I won’t lie to Anna, and she’s no fool. Getting Zania out of prison won’t be easy.
I want to tell her how much it means to me that Belial has asked me to go, that he trusts me with this, but I’m not sure I can put it into words without sounding like a complete idiot.
Perhaps I should be afraid, but I’m not. I face the possibility of death every day. Life has been a perilous walk under Father’s keen eye, his whisperers always watching. But this journey—this mission—it’s dangerous in a way that’s worthy of death. It’s the first time I’ve ever been called to help others, rather than hurt them. A chance to die in a way that would bring honor is worth it. Her father’s belief in me has filled me with so much pride it’s embarrassing.
When Kope shows, the sight of him makes me so hot with anger I want to pummel him to a bloody pulp. And if I did, he’d probably just stand there and not fight back, infuriating do-gooder that he is. He brings out feelings of inadequacy in me that I don’t want to acknowledge. He was chosen to be at Anna’s side as she traveled the world. He was the one facing danger in order to find allies for when it’s time to fulfill the prophecy. He was her protector and teammate. Not me. And I hate him for it.
I hate him for all the years he’s denied the urge to dive into the bed of every woman who makes eyes at him. I hate him for not beating the shite out of every man who stirs his wrath. Why can’t he fuck up, just once?
As Kopano stands before me in the living room, all suave and put together, Anna’s the only thing keeping him in one piece. Her, and the reminder that her father wants Kopano to lead this mission into Syria. Frankly, I don’t want to get on Belial’s bad side.
A makeup artist shows, hired by Belial, to turn Kope and me into passable Syrians. She’s even brought traditional Middle Eastern clothing. I shake off my anger and let the lady have a go at me.
Turns out I’m still sexy with a big-arse beard and brown eyes instead of blue.
Flying is relaxing—whisperers stay low to earth and don’t bother with the friendly skies. I know I should be nervous about what’s to come in Syria. Or annoyed by the looks other passengers keep giving me, thanks to my Middle Eastern clothing. I wonder if Kope is getting the same treatment where he sits in the back. I want to yell at all of them, “I’m not a bloody terrorist, so piss off with the crazy stares.” Wankers. Instead I shake it off, close my eyes, and rest.