Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

I’m not too far gone to notice Roark didn’t answer my questions, though. When it comes to him, silence speaks far louder—and far more honestly—than any of the well-turned phrases that leave his mouth.

“You really think I’m that much of a jackass?” I challenge him.

He shushes me. Actually shushes me.

Maybe I should try to explain it better to him. I lower my voice. “Even when I hated you, I wouldn’t have left you there.”

“Smith, stop bellowing.”

I wave my arms, voice climbing out of its whisper. “You haven’t heard me bellow yet.”

Roark rubs at his eyes. “Fine. You’re quiet as a church mouse and I’m sorry for thinking you would have left me unconscious in a field after you’d tried to blow me up with the ley line. Apparently, I’m unaware what enemies are supposed to do to each other. Enlighten me.”

“Don’t turn this back on me. I only considered your stupid family to be my enemies. I never decided we would be enemies. You did that on your own, Lyne. I just retaliated.” I punctuate the statement by stabbing an index finger at his chest. Somehow, I end up poking his arm instead.

That’s the last straw. Roark’s statement is unintelligible and before he even finishes it, he reaches for me. I lean in, eager to get another fix of the addictive rocking of the earth that happens beneath my feet when our mouths meet. Oooooooor...he could be grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the stairs. Damn. He doesn’t slow his breakneck pace as we climb, even though my legs seem to be getting heavier and heavier.

“Stop hexing me,” I snarl while he drags me up one last miserable flight.

“I’m not hexing you.”

Walking this narrow hallway to our apartment door is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.

“My legs aren’t working right.”

Roark’s somewhere between utter frustration and amusement. “That’s because you drank. Extensively.”

He pushes me inside the apartment with no ceremony whatsoever. When he turns on the living room lights, they sear my retinas and my howl would make a loup-garou proud.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. But he turns off the light.

“Thanks,” I mumble, sharp pain in my head finally managing to dampen my desire. I drag myself toward my room. Nausea rises but if I fall asleep before it really takes hold, I’ll be fine. “See you in the morning?”

“I’m going home for the weekend. Duty calls.”

My stab of disappointment is impossible to hide. He’s running away from me. “Monday then.” There. If I don’t phrase it as a question, he can’t weasel his way out of it.

I kick off my shoes and strip to my boxers. God, I’m tired. When did I get so tired?

I bump into a desk instead of the bed. Must have gotten turned around somehow. Whatever.

Sliding between the sheets is heaven.

“Smith, what the hell are you doing?”

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and bury my face in the pillow. “Not now. Sleep.”

Exhaustion steals color and shape and coherency from the room.

Someone tugs the sheets up over my shoulder. Fingers brush through my hair. Something whispered in a way that makes my chest loosen.

Feels like home—

Chapter Thirteen

Roark

Mother’s guards are nowhere in sight when I arrive at her chambers in the sídhe. I can’t blame them. It’s smart to avoid her in this state. No one would dare threaten her, unless they had a death wish. I don’t, but I’d rather face her than lie in bed, thinking about Smith.