Only his piercing gray eyes penetrated the shadows, and I felt goosebumps rise over every inch of my skin.
6
Lila
He towered over the room, dominating everything in it with a tangible power. Beneath his cloak, I caught a glimpse of a sword slung around his waist.
My breath caught, and I found myself standing, unsteady in my heels. While practically my entire body was visible through the sheer robe, he was almost completely hidden. And it was hard to tell with the dark material, but I thought I saw the faint sheen of claret blood on his cloak.
Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself yanking the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around myself. Only the feather stuck out of the blanket, in front of my face.
Possibly his feather.
So I supposed it was a mercy he’d hidden the sex appeal for now. Easier to keep my wits about me.
As he took a step closer, I tried to get a look at his face. I caught a glimpse of a sharp jawline, a full lower lip under that cowl. His shoulders were far broader than a mortal’s, and he exuded a sort of power that tingled over my body.
I swallowed hard.
Bollocks. He was already entrancing me.
He took one more step, and I felt his eyes boring into me—the stormy gray of cloudy skies. My heart seemed to be leaping. Somehow, I felt like everything in the room was going dark except him. And here I was, just staring.
An exhilarating, liquid warmth moved along my throat, pooling in my chest. It took me a moment to realize that his icy eyes were now staring at my neck. And that that was because I’d unconsciously started moving the angel feather back and forth over my skin, while pleasure rippled in its trail. Back and forth, back and forth.
Mortified, I stopped. His body had gone completely still, a brooding silhouette of darkness before me. As for me, I was clutching the blanket around myself, breathing deeply. Neither of us had spoken a word.
I dropped the feather on the bed, my cheeks flashing red.
The count lifted his gaze again to my eyes. Curiosity was unfurling in me, and I found myself taking a step closer, wanting to see more of him.
And I did see more under the cowl—gray eyes flecked with silver, eyelashes black as jet, the high curve of one cheekbone, a sweep of dark eyebrows. Beautiful.
That was when I felt it—the full force of pure power pulsing off him in waves, undulating through my body. It was a magic that seemed to penetrate the blanket, rippling over me, making my skin ache for touch. My thighs clenched. I loosed a deep, shaking breath.
Remember, Lila, that you loathe him. He is a tyrant who executes your countrymen.
“Take it off.” The sound of his deep voice, like a tolling bell, vibrated up the nape of my neck.
I swallowed hard. Even with the blanket on, I somehow felt exposed before him, like those piercing gray eyes could read all my secrets. He smelled like iron, and something sweet like figs.
I dropped the blanket on the floor. I was acutely aware of his eyes on me, and the disturbingly sensual feel of his magic caressing every inch of my bare skin—a tingling heat brushing up the inside of my legs.
My body felt exquisitely sensitive, like I was desperate for him to touch me, to pull off the rest of my clothes. My cheeks were heating.
God, I hated him. I clenched my fists, my fingernails piercing my palms.
Under the cloak, he cocked his head. “When I said ‘take it off,’ I meant your mask. I thought that was apparent. What sort of person wears a mask? Though the blanket was also odd.”
I bit my lip, glowering at him. “I mean, you basically wear both with that cloak.”
“Take it off,” he repeated more firmly.
“Fine,” I said. “Will you take your cowl off, then?”
“No.”
I was already mucking this up, wasn’t I? Of course this wasn’t an equal relationship. “All right.” I pulled the mask off, working hard to school my angry features into a charming smile worthy of Zahra.
He closed the last bit of distance between us, and lifted my chin, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me your name.”
I swallowed hard. “Zahra.”
“How well do you know this city?” he asked.
His question threw me off guard. “I was born here. I know every alley in the East End and by the river. Okay, do you want me to tie you up now?”
“Absolutely not. What do you do when you’re not working?”
I was breathing deeply, chest heaving. “Are we making small talk?”
“No. I just need to make sure you’re the right one.”
The right one? “I dance. And I walk around the city. I love this city. The ancient Albian city, founded by the Raven King.”
His eyes were so piercing, his gaze penetrating my soul. I wanted to hide.
His fingers closed a little harder on my chin.
My lip curled. You should be hanging from the gallows, angel. Not us. Your feet should cast shadows over the earth as they swing. The ravens should be picking at your bones.
The darkness of those thoughts surprised even myself.
“You …” he said, as if sounding perplexed, his face close to mine. “Zahra. You pretend that you’re happy. But underneath that veneer of cheerfulness, there’s anger. There’s a darkness. Rage, even.”
I found myself transfixed by his strange, beautiful gaze, until everything went dark. I felt myself falling through the air, plummeting at a thousand miles per hour through a void. Completely alone in the darkness, the solitude an unendurable torture. It was like a physical pain that split me open.
I breathed in sharply, and the world came back to me. I faltered, and the count caught me around the waist, pulling me against his hard chest.
Under his cloak, the material of his shirt was exquisitely soft. And beneath it, the pure steel of a warrior’s body. With his powerful arms wrapped around me, I caught my breath for a moment. His magic skimmed over me, making my heart race faster. My cheeks burned as I realized my nipples had tightened to sensitive points.
I pushed myself away from him and folded my arms in front of my chest, self-conscious. “Perhaps you’d be happier with one of the other courtesans.”
“No. I don’t think another one will do.”
I slid out of the high heels. Because fuck those shoes. I looked up at him, considerably shorter than I had been.
Mentally, I mastered control of myself. Another smile plastered on my face. Thieving, brawling I could do. Running from cutthroats in the street I could do. But Count Saklas? He made me feel something I rarely did: panic.
The count reached out and gripped my waist. He pulled me in closer to him, peering down at me. Sinful heat rippled through me, making my thighs clench. What was he doing?
“You,” he said again. “But why?”
“Why what?” I caught a glimpse of something gold on the side of his cheekbones, but it was hard to see.
Instinctively, I understood. It was the edge of a face that mortals were never meant to see, because it could break our minds. A low, menacing voice knelled in the hollows of my mind. Death is upon you. Run or die.
I tried to take a step back, but his hand was rooting me in place, possessive. Fingers locked on my hip while he stared into my eyes. Something screamed inside me, from the ancient part of my brain—a primal instinct to either run or fight.