A Discovery of Secrets and Fate (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 2)

Truly, it would work best with my hair.

* * *

I’m in the bathroom pulling at some of my springier curls to see if I can get them to relax into waves when I hear the bedroom door open. Carrick calls out, “Finley?”

I have a piece of my mind to give him. Spinning from the mirror, I march through the bathroom into the bedroom to find Carrick’s back to me as he closes the door.

“How dare you portray yourself as my master to these people?” I snarl, hands on my hips.

Carrick neither flinches nor retreats from the venom in my voice, instead turning very slowly my way. His mouth is open, a retort already in mind and ready to launch, but then it snaps shut again.

“What?” I growl. “Nothing to say because you know it’s inexcusable?”

He stays silent, except now I understand why he’s not responding.

It’s because his interest has been completely diverted elsewhere.

Carrick’s eyes are lasered onto my body, his gaze running slowly over me and the outfit—or lack thereof—that I have on. It took me forever to wiggle into the damn thing, make sure all straps were appropriately placed and not twisted, and then checking and rechecking every angle in the mirror to make sure that despite the amount of skin showing, the actual goods were well concealed.

It’s not so much I mind what would be considered the short skirt that’s basically a stretchy piece of fabric that rests below my hip bones and barely extends two inches lower than my crotch. I’ve got the satin half skirt to cover my ass. As long as I remain standing and legs relatively straight, I’m good on the front side, too.

It’s the straps across my chest that have caused me some concern, but after a little bit of jumping up and down, I’m pretty assured my breasts are not going to come popping out. They’re secure enough. Except they’re secure because the three-inch straps of stretchy velvet are a bit tight, which mashes them slightly, causing the rounded globes of the tops and bottoms to be fully on display.

It is precisely where Carrick is staring at this moment, and I can’t read his expression. His jaw is locked so hard that I fear his teeth might crack and his lips are pressed flat, which would indicate displeasure.

But his eyes tell a bit of a different story as they glow. Knowing what I know about him being a demi-god, I no longer think that’s a trick of the light.

“I thought you would have chosen the bronze dress,” he murmurs, making no effort to look me in the eye. He takes another lazy perusal of my body, perhaps just being a man appreciating a sexy woman, but when he finally meets my gaze head-on, I’m almost knocked backward by what I read within those golden, glowing eyes.

Pure lust.

Like carnal, no hiding it in his expression, full-out naked desire.

My pulse instantly fires because Carrick’s expression says he wants to devour me whole.

I’m instantly nervous and doubtful, and my skin feels like it’s on fire. I start to stammer as I walk toward the bed. “I can put on the bronze dress. It’s far more my style.”

I have to pass by Carrick to reach the dress still lying on the bed, but I’m stopped in my tracks as his hand shoots out to wrap around my upper arm.

“Don’t,” he commands, and I instantly want to obey.

Not because he’s used compulsion on me, but because deep down, I like the look he just gave me, and I don’t want it to stray to Deandra.

“Okay,” I murmur, twisting my head to the side to see him. The lust and desire are in check, eyes no longer glowing.

His gaze drops, and he frowns. “We’ve got a problem.”

I look down at my bare feet. “No one brought me any shoes.”

“That is something I can remedy,” he replies with a smirk as he releases my arm, only to flick his hand toward my feet.

Instantly, a pair of black Converse high tops appear on my feet, and I move my gaze from them to Carrick, whose lips are curved upward ever so slightly. “Very funny. But they don’t quite work,” I point out.

“No, they don’t,” he replies, smile sliding as his gaze narrows on my calf. “Your feather.”

I glance down. Yes, we cannot have anyone seeing the feather.

I’m jolted when with another flick of his hand, the Converse disappear and I’m instantly in a pair of black vinyl boots that come up over my knees to mid-thigh. The heels are so high, I’m not prepared for the need to balance, and I start to topple, but Carrick catches my arm again to hold me steady.

“Can you walk in these?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, pulling from his grasp and taking a few steady steps. I’ve come a long way in heel walking since that fateful night I met Carrick at Fallon’s art show that had me almost breaking my ankles. It’s not that I’ve had a ton more practice, but I think it’s because my confidence has grown.