“Nope.”
“Put me down!” I went to kick my legs, but his other arm folded over the backs of my knees, trapping them. “Nyktos, I swear to the gods—”
“You shouldn’t swear to the gods. It’s blasphemous.”
I screeched, swinging a fist back as he opened the door that adjoined our chambers. I froze, staring into the dark corridor of the short hall. The door…hadit been unlocked? Or had he used his power to unlock it?
“I have a feeling you’re about to punch me in a kidney,” Nyktos said as he carried me down the passageway and into his bedchamber.
My fist opened as the scent of citrus—of him—increased. “No, I wasn’t.”
“I don’t think I’ve met someone who lies as much as you do.” Nyktos turned sharply, dumping me onto the bed.
“Asshole!” I bounced roughly as the scant items in his chambers came into view, lit by the glow of the wall sconces. A wardrobe. A few chests, and the long settee beside a table and lone chair. I was a little startled by being in his chamber again.
Nyktos caught my legs before I could even move, tucking one between his arm and chest as he grabbed the boot of theother. He slipped the dagger out, thrusting it into the wooden footboard of the bed, then tugged the boot off.
“What the fuck?”
“Your boots are as filthy as your mouth.” He grabbed hold of the other boot, and that too hit the floor with a thump. “And while I enjoy that mouth in my bed, I won’t enjoy the boots.” He glanced down at my soiled, bloodied breeches. “They need to come off, too.”
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man ask me to remove my clothing so romantically before.”
His eyes flicked to mine. They were the shade of the sky outside the palace. My fingers pressed into the thick blanket beneath me as he stared down at me, and I knew I looked as much a mess as my mind was. More hair pulled free of the braid it was in. Skin nicked from branches. He was furious with me, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled with him and his manhandling, but…but something shifted between us. A different kind of tension thickened the air, quickening my pulse and sending a bolt of awareness through me. Suddenly, I wondered if he was thinking of the last time I had been in his bedchamber and on his bed. Or of us in the receiving chamber. I was. Heat hit my blood, followed by a pulsing ache.
Nyktos’s nostrils flared, and his chest rose sharply. “Take your pants off, Sera.”
Those words hit me like a hot stroke, lashing the particularly impulsive side of my nature. “You want them off?” I leaned back on my elbows and raised my brows. “You’re going to have to take them off.”
Nyktos went completely still. Not even his chest moved, but thin wisps of eather slipped into his eyes. He wouldn’t do it. I’d known that when I made the demand.
My lips formed a tight smile. “Then I guess I’ll be sleeping in them.”
He came forward then, planting one knee on the bed. Air lodged in my throat. I tightened all over as his hands moved under the hem of the sweater, and then I loosened as his fingers curled under the band.
His eyes never left mine. “Will you lift your ass, or will I need to do that for you, too?”
I bit my lip and lifted my ass.
The wisps of eather in his eyes grew brighter as he tugged the breeches over my hips and then down my thighs, not even bothering with the buttons. Muscles low in my stomach coiled as he drew them down my legs, the backs of his fingers grazing my skin like a cool kiss. I didn’t even hear the breeches hit the floor. His stare remained locked on mine as his fingers snagged my wool socks. They too fell somewhere beyond the bed.
Slowly, those thick lashes lowered.“Fuck.”
The sweater and slip had bunched up around my upper thighs, and from his vantage point and that one word, I knew he could see that I’d skipped undergarments in my haste to leave earlier.
My heart was thundering as his gaze rose to meet mine again. The essence churned lazily in his eyes. “The sweater is also dirty.”
Hollows formed under his cheekbones, and the tips of his fangs appeared. “Lift your arms.”
I rose so I rested on my knees, my breath catching as it brought our bodies within inches of touching. I lifted my arms. His hands sank into the thick material. My eyes closed as he tugged the sweater up and over my head. Tiny goose bumps broke out over the skin of my now-bare arms. The slip bordered on gossamer, cinched tightly to my breasts and falling looser over my waist and hips. It barely hid anything, and I was nearly as naked as I had been when he gave me his blood. I could feel his stare, as heavy as a caress, over my shoulders—without even a hint of a wound now—and the swell of my breasts. Then lower.
The tips of his fingers brushed my arm, drawing my eyes open. He was silent as he reached behind me, collecting my braid. I watched his fingers smooth down the thick length, stopping when they reached the band doing its best to contain the mass. He tugged it off, sliding it onto his wrist. He began to slowly and carefully unravel the braid. My gaze flew to his.
“The braid can’t be comfortable to sleep on,” he murmured, his voice thicker, richer.
I fell quiet, holding completely still as he meticulously separated the curls. I was inexplicably moved by the act.
He draped the length of hair over my shoulders and back when he was finished, but his fingers lingered in the strands,moving toward the ends that touched my waist. “Are you done fighting me?”