Salazar's Angel

XXIII

Dahlia feels the chill wash over her as soon as she steps into Draco's room. The massive fireplace looming over her on the left is dark and the air is freezing. As Draco shuts the door behind her, Dahlia decides the room smells like apples and is abnormally clean for a teenage boy...though that could be on account of the house elves...

The tidiness is not the only thing out of place in what should be a teenage boys room. On the wall behind the sitting area in front of the fireplace is a massive floor to ceiling book shelf, every shelf filled. Next to that is a bench carved out of the wall just below the window, which is covered in heavy black curtains. Then, to the right, Dahlia's gaze finally lands on the bed. A massive four poster canopy bed, entirely black. In fact, most things in the room are black, aside from the black and green ornate rug they are standing on and some other green accents scattered about.

"Done staring?" Draco asks, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms.

Dahlia swallows and forces herself to turn towards him. "Yeah. Your room is..."

"Dark? Gloomy? Imposing?" Draco supplies.

"Awesome. Your room is awesome. And it is very much you." Dahlia saunters over and drapes herself across the green velvet chaise lounge in the seating area.

Draco follows and sinks into the black leather armchair next to her. "That speech..."

"What speech?" Dahlia asks, attempting to scan the titles on the nearby bookshelf.

"The one you gave after my father introduced you to everyone."

Dahlia's head swivels around to meet his eyes. "Oh. That one. Yeah."

"So...you do or do not believe what you were spouting off?" Draco asks.

Dahlia shrugs. "I really don't know what all I said, actually, so I wouldn't want to lay claim to it."

"How do you not know what you said? It came out of your mouth! Did you use some sort of spell or something?" Draco runs his hands through his hair a couple of times.

"I told you, lying through my teeth is my favorite hobby. I wasn't kidding. It just comes naturally to me. I knew the audience I was speaking to and I knew what was expected of me, so that just made it even easier."

"Wow," Draco huffs.

"You, on the other hand, looked like you were about to puke. For at least the second time this evening, actually." Dahlia raises her eyebrows.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Draco admits, holding their eye contact. 

Dahlia scoffs, clutching her chest. "I'm wounded, truly."

She stands and walks over to the book shelf, continuing to scan the titles. Most of them she does not recognize, though there are a few non-magical classics such as some novels by Jane Austen and Emily Bronte. She is absorbed in scanning the shelf containing what appear to be journals when she senses him approach her from behind.

Dahlia feels his breath on her neck even before he touches her. His hand comes to rest on her waist. 

"Aren't you cold?" He asks, his icy breath blowing across the shell of he ear. His thumb rubs slow circles on the silk covering her skin there, the chill sinking through the fabric.

"Not at all,  actually. This is the first time I haven't felt on fire since...well, you know." She subconsciously covers her mark with her opposite hand.

She feels him tuck her ponytail over her other shoulder, and then place his lips against the bare skin it leaves newly accessible. She sucks in a deep breath as he trails slow, languid kisses up and down her shoulder.