Verath the Red (Dragonwall Series #3)

Chapter 37 - The Weight of Choice

Kastali Dun

Talon followed Claire into her quarters, chasing after her lavender scent as if hypnotized. He chided himself for accepting her invitation, but he could no more refuse it than he could refuse her in nearly anything. Was it the mate bond that made him weak? Perhaps his growing affection towards her?

Just a few minutes, he told himself, justifying the decision. Then he would politely remind her that she needed rest, that it was getting late, that he had other business to attend to, as he always did.

"I just opened this red earlier," she called from across the room. "I think you'll like it. It's had time to settle now." She lifted a bottle to her nose and inhaled, then smiled with her eyes closed. He remained in the entryway, watching her like prey. He blinked and cleared his head. She wasn't that. Yet, the black dragon inside him stirred. She stoked some deeply rooted instincts, capturing his attention and ensnaring it.

"Red is fine," he mused, stalking his way across the room without removing his gaze from her. She turned her back on him to gather a goblet. Her slender shoulders were bare. He traced the lines and planes, gaze lingering over the Sprite mark. It was beautiful against her skin, much as he hated to admit that. His attention fixed upon her neck and the wisps of hair that had come untucked. He stepped up behind her—as close as was possible without stepping on her flowing gown—and pretended to watch her movements over her shoulder. Before he could stop it, his hand brushed the loose strands of her hair away from her neck. An excuse to touch her. She stilled beneath his fingers, responding to his touch. He pulled his hand away.

"Here," she said, turning. She lifted her goblet and clinked it against his. "To finding what was once thought lost."

"And carving new beginnings," he added and then took a sip, keeping her unearthly green eyes locked on his. "Mmm." He rolled the liquid around on his tongue before swallowing it. "From the North, if I had to guess?" He reached around her for the bottle, allowing his body to brush against hers. He didn't really care where the wine had come from, even though he made a show of reading the label tied around the bottle's neck. Her breathing heightened, louder and more staggered at his close proximity. Was this the effect he had on her? Such power thrilled and scared him. "Hmm...Yes," he said, setting the bottle down. "I've had this one before." He wasn't sure if he had. He didn't care. His words were mindless—an excuse to speak. He was too distracted to make sense.

She sipped from her own goblet and regarded him over the rim.

They were too close to the fireplace. It was too hot. "I could use some fresh air. Care to join me on the balcony?" he asked, pulling at the collar of his tunic to readjust it.

"Oh. Yes. Sure." Her forehead furrowed.

He turned and strode in the direction of the double doors, exhaling to ease the tension in his shoulders. On his way, he unclipped his cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair. Why was it so frustrating to want two completely different things at once?

Out on the balcony, the cool air kissed his face. He inhaled, taking in the salty sea breeze. It calmed his nerves.

Claire came up to stand beside him. "Only two minutes alone with me and you're already avoiding me," she said, her voice joking as if to make light of the statement. She stood close. Too close. He felt the heat rolling off her like the waves below, slamming against the cliff walls.

"Avoiding you?" He paid her a sidelong glance. "What makes you think that? We've spent nearly the entire evening together."

She sighed. "That's not what I meant and you know it. We've been alone plenty since discovering our mate bond. But each time you catch yourself getting close to me, you pull away." He opened his mouth to argue. But she was right. He was avoiding her in that way.