Maeve
I… I knew better than this.
I knew the second I slipped out of our hotel room, chasing that vibration creeping through every surface in the building, that Soren was going to be absolutely ticked off, but I couldn’t help it.
There’s something about my power that’s drawn to sound, as strange as it seems. Like a beacon, the music I heard when I’d been taking a bath wrapped its talons around the traces of magic still left in my system and tugged, hard, begging me to follow, to let go.
I remember the night of Brie’s elopement as I side-step through the crowd in Soren’s direction, ignoring the curious hands reaching to graze my sweater before pulling back, like they can’t believe I’m here, their princess, their soon to be queen, and I’d just been dancing like mad on a table for all of them to see.
That night after the ceremony, Blake told me something that stuck in my brain like a piece of gum, forever ingrained in my memory. Find something that shuts you off.
Music gets me going. The lively, riotous kind that squeals and bangs, making walls shake and the ground vibrate with each haunting melody. It makes my powers dance in my veins, even now, when I’m so empty I can still feel the ice beneath my skin.
But the moment I reach Soren’s side, and slide my hand up his thigh, I lean in to whisper into his ear, “Are you mad?”
And he says, “What do you think?” giving me that cocky, displeased smirk…. Yeah. My powers sizzle, calming as his mouth inadvertently brushes over the top of my ear to continue, “You owe me a thousand dollars for those drinks you promised these people, Maeve. They’re all drinking top-shelf.”
My cheeks burn as his soft, low laugh tickles my skin.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet his. In the dark gloom of the bar attached to the backside of the hotel, his face is shadowed, and that backward ball cap makes him look… younger, less rough around the edges.
Just a normal man flirting with me at a bar.
He’s sitting on a stool, his legs splayed with me now standing between them. It’s crowded and loud here, and I feel an intense pull toward going back upstairs to the quiet confinement of our room, but… would it break this spell?
It’s possible I’m the only one of us feeling this way. This… this heat that burrows through my body, making it impossible to think past it. This heat that makes me want to claw out of my own skin and into his. Isn’t that weird?
“What are you thinking about?” he whispers in my ear, his hand coming to rest on the curve of my hip. The touch is electric, creating an itch I desperately want scratched.
“I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with me,” I reply and take his drink, downing what’s left. It’s scotch, which isn’t my favorite but it’s better than nothing.
Soren’s brows raise as I hand him the empty glass. He chuckles, leaning back to set the glass on the bar. “I didn’t take you for a whiskey girl, but I guess I can’t see you drinking anything with a girly little umbrella in it, either.” He leans forward again, gripping my hip to guide me out from between his legs. “Do you want to stay? Dance a little?”
“No,” I reply without a moment’s hesitation. “I want to go back upstairs.” I hold his gaze, wondering if he can see past the cold look I’m giving him.
He only nods, rising and taking my hand to lead me through the crowd. I can still hear the music, but it’s muffled when we reach our room. It mingles with the blood rushing through my ears and the thunder still crackling and groaning overhead. I feel like it takes him an eternity to unlock the door. Every breath, every second that passes, is full of so much tension I could drown it in.
He has to know that something changed between us–that something’s actively shifting. I can’t be the only one who feels it.
I desperately want him to feel the same.
“Come on,” he says quietly, pushing the door open. It’s dark in the room. The only light pours from a small lamp on the far bedside table, illuminating clean sheets and what I hope is a comfortable mattress.
I’m still staring at the bed when he shuts the door and locks it tight. I’m still staring at the shadows in the crinkles on the bedspread when his heavy tread echoes across the floorboards behind me, and he stops just shy of my body. I close my eyes when his fingers dance through my hair before letting it fall again, and my heart… it lurches when he says, “I’ve always loved your hair.”
I know now that Soren means every word that leaves his lips. Every single one. He’s not a man that dances around the truth.
“What a weird thing to say,” I grind out, struggling to swallow as my heartbeat grows faster. I’m about to do something so very stupid again, I can feel it, so I refuse to turn around to look at him.
He rounds me instead, the floorboards creaking under his feet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I’m–I’m a little worn out.”
“You were dancing on a table. That might have something to do with it.”
“I don’t like you,” I lie, opening my eyes to find him directly in front of me, stepping into my personal space, but I don’t back away.
“I think you do. I think you like me, Maeve, and hate it, because it means you’re capable of feeling something other than disgust for someone else.”
I square my shoulders, scanning his face for answers to the questions bouncing through my skull with no place to land.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” he says, his eyes on mine–intense and bright. “And I’m going to sleep in the bed. It’s been a long time since I slept somewhere other than a couch, or the floor. Can you handle that?”
I can’t. The idea of him beside me, of only inches of space between us….
He brushes past me into the bathroom. I close my eyes before shrugging out of my cardigan and slipping off my boots. The shift will work as a nightgown, I suppose. It’s clean, at least. Soren leaves the bathroom smelling like toothpaste and a hint of whatever body wash he used in the shower earlier but walks past me toward the bag of vials and other medical supplies he brought with him. He sets his wallet on a side table as he cleans out the pockets of his jeans, while I move toward the bathroom to brush my teeth and braid my hair.
He’s still not in bed when I return and slide between the sheets, my heart hammering against my ribs. I roll over to face the wall and listen to Soren checking the locks on the door and window, and then the bed sinks under his weight, and here I am–in bed–with him.
“Are you going to turn that lamp off or are you afraid of the dark?”
I reach over and pull the little tassel. The room fades into darkness, but Soren is shifting his weight repeatedly, trying to get comfortable. His leg brushes mine as he rolls over onto his side in my direction, then beats his pillow a bit, making the bed vibrate with each move he makes.
I squeeze my thighs together against a rush of that flaming, delirious heat now radiating through my body.
He wraps his hand around my shoulder, and I startle, my eyes flying open.
“You’re freezing,” he says under his breath. “I’ll go downstairs and see if they have more blankets.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“You’re like ice right now, Maeve.”
“I barely feel it,” I whisper, keeping my eyes trained on the wall.
His sigh of frustration whispers over my skin, my hair, as he moves closer until his body is flush with mine.
He wraps his arm around my waist, and his warmth is… fevered. Hot enough to make my skin prickle and cheeks warm.
His other arm snakes beneath my shoulder until my cheek is resting against his arm, and then he’s folding me against him, curling his body around mine… and I let him do it.
My voice shakes as I say, “You don’t have to–”
“Stop talking. You’re cold. I’m… not. You can have my warmth until I get tired of this position.”
“How do you normally sleep?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. My back, I guess.”
“You probably snore then,” I quip, and his chuckle dusts over the rim of my ear, igniting that flame once again.
“Why is your heart beating so fast, Princess?” he whispers, his hand splaying over my lower belly, his fingers suddenly aching close to the apex of my thighs.
“I’ve never been in bed with a man before.”
“I’m not touching you because I want or expect anything from you,” he says under his breath, but his hand doesn’t move from my stomach, and for that, I’m grateful.
I feel safe with him. It’s crazy, but it’s true. He may hate me, be sick of me, but he’ll defend me if he has to, and I know it. Deep down, somewhere I’ve locked away and kept guarded… I trust him.
“I’ve never even–even kissed anyone before.” I swallow against the flaring blush starting to creep down my neck, thawing out more of the ice. His touch and proximity is doing wonders for my power depletion, honestly. I’m not sure it’s his full-blooded shifter heat or what, but I’m warming up, and that chill is being replaced by something deeper, something that aches, something that makes my muscles coil with tension.
His mouth brushes over my shoulder, my bare skin rippling with a heated chill. “I figured based on how you tried to kiss me the other night.”
I scoff, but his breath fans against the back of my neck as he inhales deeply into my hair, not even bothering to hide it…
I might have been wrong.
He might want this as much as I do.
“Will you show me how to do it?” I ask without thinking.
“Do what?”
“Kiss.”
His hand on my belly presses in just a touch, his arm going tight. “Why would you want me to kiss you?”
“I just need–I need a distraction.”
His body relaxes, his mouth touching my shoulder again as he inhales slowly. “Maeve–”
“I’m just–I trust you, Soren. Fuck, I–” I swallow past the nerves, my hand coming up to rest over his. “I’m going to be queen in a few weeks,” I begin. “My days will be spent doing my duty to my people. Then I’ll spend my nights alone.”
“You wouldn’t be alone. You’ll marry some prince–”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re the only person who isn’t afraid of me,” I force out, the words wobbling off my tongue. “I just–I’m tired, and I’m freezing–”
He kisses my shoulder, and it’s enough to make that flame roar to life, an everlasting heat that burns through me with an intensity to make my toes curl. His teeth gently graze my skin, and it steals my breath away.
That ache between my legs is something I can’t deny. I imagine him at the bar, imagine that smile that tugged across his lips when I’d been dancing, dancing for him, wondering if he–if he knew, could feel it, somehow.
His hand moves down my stomach, over my hip. “I’ve been thinking about doing more than kissing you,” he admits as his fingers find the hem of my shift and trace a line over my thigh, toward my center. He exhales sharply, dragging the hem up until his fingertips graze the waistband of my panties. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats, his mouth still resting against my shoulder, “about what it’d be like to have you at my mercy, Princess.”