My lip curled as he lowered the stylus to the bound parchment, and crimson appeared as he began to write. “Does it hurt?”
Nyktos shook his head.
I came even closer, stopping at the edge of his desk. I watched him in silence. He wrote name after name in neat, flowing lines of red until he turned the page and began to fill that one, too. “Your penmanship is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He filled another page.
Then a third.
“How…how do you choose who dies?”
“I don’t.” Another name. “The names come to me as I write.”
I leaned my hip against the desk, curling my leg just enough that the panels of the gown parted, revealing my leg from the calf to just above the knee. “What if you make a mistake?”
He stopped writing, his gaze slowly sliding up the length of my exposed leg.
“What if you’re making names up and don’t realize it?” I asked as I untwisted the strands of my hair. “Or what if you misspell a name?”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
“Ever?”
“Not with this. In other things?” he muttered, the edges of his fangs dragging over his lower lip as his gaze lingered on the curve of my hip. “Far too often.”
“Really?”
“I can think of a few right now.”
“Like what?” I asked, knowing I was being a brat andthoroughly enjoying myself.
“Like not having Nektas take you with him when he left.” He returned to writing. “He could’ve put you down for a nap. I’m sure Jadis and Reaver would’ve enjoyed the company.”
I pressed my lips together to stop from laughing. “That was rude.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.” I watched him write several more names. Seconds ticked into minutes. Good gods, how many would die today? “Perhaps I should’ve left with Nektas. I wonder if he would’ve…enjoyedputting me down for a nap. He did seem to like my gown.”
That got his attention.
The stylus stopped moving. His chin lifted, and thundercloud eyes pierced with lightning met mine.
Very purposefully, I placed my hands on his desk and leaned forward. The slight bend of the waist was enough to test the limits of the gown.
Nyktos’s eyes lowered. The stylus vanished from his palm. I hoped that meant he was finished.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Am I being distracting?”
“You don’t sound sorry at all.” The line of his jaw flexed as he slowly drew his gaze to mine. “And you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re purposely being distracting.”
“I would never.”