A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

My breath caught at the feather-light brush of his touch against my ribs, sending a chaos of tingles sizzling throughout my body. And when he slid his rough hand from my cheek to my nape, pushing my curtain of hair out of my face, I shivered. Goose bumps ran down my arms. The tightness in my stomach, the emptiness between my legs, though I’d never known anything different, had me turning toward him, resting my palm on the floor between his legs so that I could get closer.

On all fours, leaning in toward him, I could only imagine that with this dress, I looked like I’d been paid to service him the way that woman in the hall had that man. Instead of the idea making me feel shameful, it made me tingle in anticipation, made me feel powerful, important.

I was mere inches from his lips, but his gaze was elsewhere—following the curve of my spine, my backside; the heat of his gaze running down the low cut of my bodice. He met my eyes, turmoil, frustration, staring back at me. “I still have a question.”

I waited.

His fingers threaded through the hair at my nape. The action pulled me closer; so close to his lips, our breaths intermixed.

His words were rough, dark. “Did you let Maxim in your bed?”

I hesitated, lowering my eyes.

Was I ready to admit that in that endeavor, I was the same girl he knew before? The same ridiculous girl?

I wasn’t a romantic. I wasn’t someone who believed in soul mates or love at first sight. But I couldn’t deny that even though he’d always had questionable—more than questionable—motives, for some reason, I loved the roughness of his hands and the sound of his voice. That, strangely enough, I felt more alive than I ever had where he was concerned.

There was a lot about him that made me feel lost and uncertain. But what I knew with conviction, was that I wasn’t ready to put myself out there like that. If I said no, it would sound like I’d been waiting for him. And if I said yes, that would be a lie. I knew my response would push us one way or another.

I just hadn’t expected how far it would go.

“Pass,” came out in between two shallow breaths against his lips.

My gaze had been lowered, and therefore I could never pinpoint exactly when it started. But when the silence pressed on my lungs, filling my chest up with regret and not air, I glanced up.

Two black-as-night eyes looked back at me, the irises losing their round form and spreading like liquid throughout.

My heart leaped into my throat, and I tried to jump back, but his hold stayed steady in my hair. His jaw ticked, but he closed his eyes, his breaths heavy. I once again tried to pull away, but his grip tightened even further.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse, the unmistakable ‘sort of fangs’ visible when he barred his teeth.

My heart beat in horror. But I couldn’t do what he said; the flight instinct was too strong. Just as it was in any nightmares I had when I was a child. If I hadn’t been full of uncertainty, terror, I would have tried to embrace the darkness inside me. But somehow it lay dormant like it wasn’t going to go up against this version of Weston.

“Don’t move,” he growled, his chest moving with agitated breaths. “If you keep fighting me, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

I went stalk still at that, while he waged an inner turmoil with himself. When a few moments passed, and his breaths calmed slightly, he slowly loosened his grip on my hair.

“Walk,” he said roughly.

I got to my feet the slowest I’d ever done, my breaths heavy, a tremor rolling through me as I did what he said.

“Open the door.”

I did, cringing at the creak that filled the air, and waiting in silence, horror gripping my heart. I glanced at him for the last instruction. His eyes were completely black, there was no color left at all, and he was undoubtedly something I would’ve seen in my nightmares.

His expression wasn’t in turmoil anymore; in fact, it was cold, watching me under his eyelashes, just like I was a worthless commoner and him a king.

My heart froze.

He’d lost the battle.

He appeared merely bored, resting his head on the shelf while looking straight ahead of him. “Might as well do what you do best, Princess.”

I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob.

He flicked a gaze to me: lazy, dark, unsympathetic, inhumane.

“Run.”