Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

The ley line quiets a little when I place a hand on Smith’s forearm and push him away from the door. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

She nods and sweeps toward us. To his credit, Smith doesn’t flinch too badly. Mother’s hand lifts, but with Smith there as a witness, she frowns and doesn’t touch me. “Stay safe, mo leanbh.”

“Of course.”

She leans in and I drop my hold on Smith. Just in time, it seems, since her glamour wraps around me like a familiar blanket. “Be careful, my son. I will ensure your safety above all others’,” she whispers.

The threat makes my pulse skip. “Yes, Mother.”

I’m not sure how much time passes after she leaves the apartment before Smith finally decides it’s safe to speak. “You lied.”

“I do that, Smith.”

He stares at me, and I feel like a puzzle being put together. “You lied to your mother.”

“Unless you’d prefer she know it was your power, I’d stop complaining.”

He ignores my bile and crosses his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t complaining. I’m just trying to figure you out.”

I snort. “If you haven’t managed that after six years, it’s never going to happen.”

A sly smile grows on his lips. “I don’t know about that.”

And the bastard reaches down and grabs the hem of his shirt. I freeze, unable to look away as Smith peels the shirt higher and higher, exposing the shifting musculature of his abs and ribs and pecs. The cold makes his nipples hard, a dusky pink that blends with his tan, with the hair that dusts his chest and leads lower, lower, until that line and the sharp V of his hips points toward the band of his jeans. Once he’s free of the shirt, he drops it casually on the floor, and his nervous smile blinds me.

“I think I’m figuring a few things out,” he says.

He reaches for the button of his jeans and the noise that escapes me is so raw, so unexpected, he stops. Watches me.

“You want me.” A statement, not a question. Words rin

ging with a surety that terrifies me.

“I can’t.” It hurts to swallow. The motion tugs at my clenched jaw, but can’t fully relieve its tension.

“You keep saying that.” He searches my expression as if what he sees there might help him understand, and frowns at whatever he finds. “Can you tell me why?”

Not an order. An offering of his trust. Maybe he has figured some things out, or figured me out at least.

Maybe it’s enough to admit, “I’ll lose you.” The rest of the words I want to say catch in my throat.

He shakes his head. “You won’t.”

Finn stands there in front of me with his bone-deep conviction. I’m not a fighter like him. I never have been. In a few weeks, I’ll walk myself to slaughter. But tonight, together, we can turn this surrender into victory.

“Tell me again,” I rasp. “Make me believe you.”

“You won’t lose me, Roark.” He shudders when I reach out and press my hand to his chest. I trail my fingers higher, up his throat and along his jaw, until I can grip his chin and tilt his face down toward me. He trembles and shakes, but his voice never wavers. “You won’t. God, I promise you won’t—”

The way he sighs when our mouths collide almost convinces me.

Chapter Fifteen

Phineas

This is what it’s supposed to be. How it’s supposed to feel.

He tastes like winter and, God, he feels so right under my hands. I shouldn’t be able to breathe because we’re devouring each other but I finally can—