I can’t stop myself from leaning forward more, like a dog being teased with a bone. “And?”
“And...I’ll tell you one day.”
The prick.
I roll my eyes and sit back. “When?”
His lips tilt up, making him look entirely too sexy for his own good. “When you’re no longer furious with me.”
Taking a sip of my drink, I enjoy the warmth that blooms in my chest as it travels down. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
“I do. As I keep yours.”
His reply makes my stomach tie in knots. I know I’m sitting here in the night, pretendin
g. Pretending that he’s not King Ravinger, pretending that he doesn’t have his own plots and ploys.
“And why are you keeping my secrets?” I ask carefully.
We’re already so far down this gully, I figure why not go a little further? This might be the only chance we have at such open honesty, while our walls are splintered beneath a paper torn night.
“Because it suits me to do so.” I’m pinned with the pierce of his eyes just like a needle to a moth’s wings, and the sting is the same.
Like pebbles on an ocean floor, disappointment settles in the bottom of my gut. A warning, then. That just because it suits him for now, it doesn’t mean it will suit him always. If it were Midas, he’d wait to use the information until exactly the right moment. It’s what most kings would do.
I suppose the flutters of stomachs and squeezes of hearts just can’t be trusted. Everything that happened tonight—him carrying me, his words, the heat of his hips caught between my thighs as his lips grazed my cheek—they were stolen moments. Moments that we can’t afford to have. Not with our goals so misaligned. Maybe as Rip and Goldfinch, but as Ravinger and Auren? Never.
As much as I wish that things were simpler, different...they’re not, and I can’t pretend otherwise.
Rip straightens up. “And there it is.”
“There what is?”
He gestures at my face, as if he’s read some secret from it. “You just remembered I’m King Slade Ravinger and not just...this.”
I don’t deny it. I can’t. Part of me feels guilty about that, but it’s the truth. If he were just Rip, this wouldn’t be so hard.
“I can’t trust kings.” It’s impossible to keep the sound of regret from my voice. To keep the silent wish from weighing down the words.
He leans forward, bent elbows braced against his knees. “You can trust me.”
The desperation shows. I know it does, because I can’t help the way my eyes flare, the way my body bends toward him. “Prove it.” Not dismissive. Not filled with doubt. My words are pleading with him, demanding for him to do just that.
Please, prove it.
As if he can hear my imploring, Rip unwinds from the chair. His powerful body stands up straight, spikes slowly rising from his arms and back like claws extending from a predator’s paw.
Slowly, that predator in him brings his body closer to mine, one deliberate step at a time. His hands come down on either armrest at my sides, and I plaster my head against the back of the chair as he leans in and steals up all the air.
“I will,” he murmurs, and I let out a puff of a gasp.
Right in front of my eyes, Rip morphs, magic swirling around him like wisps of steam. I’m held immobilized by the waves of his power that gently pulse out. Onyx eyes turn mossy green, scales disappear along with the spikes, ears and bones soften, and tiny fissures reach up his neck to root beneath the scruff of his beard.
My heart pounds uncontrollably as I look at the face of King Ravinger, my hands going slick where they’re bunched in the blanket. Pale skin, forest-green eyes, so masculine and gorgeous that it almost hurts to look at him.
“I’m glad you’re choosing you,” he says quietly, and my lips part, like I want to swallow the rumble of his cadence.
“You are?”