Her breathing stuttered and her eyes grew glassy. She blinked the threatening tears away. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered. She pressed her face into his hand, just the tiniest bit.
That one small movement seemed weighted with emotion and affection, drawing Kael into personal conversation he rarely offered the Proffered. “Am I to understand that tonight actually marks your birthday?”
Shayla bit her lip and nodded.
The image of her teeth buried in plump flesh made his body tighten. Her birthday, how wonderfully unusual. It happened, of course, though the Proffered’s blood was most potent any time during her twentieth year. “Well, Shayla McKinnon, I will try to make it a good one for you, yes?”
Her smile was warm, glorious. “Thank you, Sire.”
The way she looked at him sent ripples of electricity through his blood. His fangs elongated. Kael pressed his lips together and dropped his hand, backed away.
Something like confusion shadowed her face before she straightened her expression and lowered her gaze once more.
Those eyes are going to be a problem. He was drawn to them, to her. He wanted to pull her up from the floor and onto the bed, and lay her out on her side as he rested facing her. He wanted to learn about her as he stared into those magical eyes. And he never wanted to learn about any of the Proffered. He never allowed himself to imagine them as companions. He was on dangerous ground.
But her face was like a mask of his people’s mythology. One eye offered the green of their sacred stone, and the other the hue they cherished for its representation of fidelity, loyalty. Her porcelain skin reflected the purity of intent the diamond in his hair stood for, and her dark red lips were the color of life-giving blood. Her face was a mirror of the sacred stones—emerald, sapphire, diamond, ruby—hanging in his hair.
It had to…mean something. Didn’t it?
No!
He hadn’t realized he’d growled in response to his thoughts until Shayla jumped. Kael resumed his earlier pacing, growing more frustrated at himself and the situation as he thought about the dangerous impossibility of his emerging desires for her. He was half tempted to send her away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And that turned his frustration into anger.
He marched to the large cabinet in the corner and wrenched open the doors. The left one banged against the wall and ricocheted back at him. He yanked out a drawer and drew a heavy black eye mask from among the items displayed within. He had to hide those eyes.
He stalked across the room and stopped just behind Shayla’s now-trembling form. Remarkably, he noted in passing admiration, it was the first fear she’d demonstrated since he’d walked into the room….
He shook his head. “Rise, Proffered.”
Shayla complied immediately, but was as confused by his suddenly harsh tone as by him calling her by her title rather than her name. She’d been warned he might do so, but he’d been using her name so freely just moments before. Not only that, but his declaration—you have been touched by magic—had been so affectionate and earnest it filled her heart with the acceptance and appreciation of her appearance she hadn’t always found growing up. Kids had teased her about her “mutant eyes,” and it wasn’t until adulthood that she’d come to prize their uniqueness and ignore the mean comments and staring gazes. The admiring tone in his words had fueled the secret hope she harbored that tonight would lead to something more, something meaningful.
Blackness cut off her thoughts. Cool fabric covered her eyes and she swayed at the unexpected loss of her vision. His large hands on her shoulders steadied and inflamed her, and she immediately regretted the loss of their heat when he drew them away.
“Hold out your left arm.” His voice held none of the warmth of before, none of the soothing welcoming tone that had calmed and reassured her earlier. She followed the command, reining in her rising disappointment as she did so. How stupid of her to read anything into his kindness. She’d been warned what would occur this night—and what wouldn’t. And yet, she’d allowed her imagination to run away with her, and she’d formed impossible expectations.
“Come.” Kael supported her arm and led her across the room. She resisted gripping onto his wrist, despite the instincts that implored her otherwise, and soon she was following his command to sit.
The chair was hard and forced her into the straightest posture. Kael arranged her arm on the wide downward-slanting surface of the armrest. Her wrist and hand hung off the end. Knowing what was coming, Shayla’s heart rate spiked and her breathing became shallow.
Something threaded between her arm and side, and warmth grazed her left breast. She barely restrained a gasp. A stretchy band bit into her bicep over the silk of her robe. None of this was unexpected, though she had thought she would have the use of her eyes to watch him work. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax.