Shadows and Secrets

By Danielle Cancel

Jade

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Jade was supposed to return home, reschedule that interview, go back to classes, and continue her life as if nothing had happened. Soran ruined everythi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danielle Cancel
• Release date: Oct 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987823095

Book preview

Chapter 1

Soran

How do you tell someone you’re the villain without losing them forever? Forming the words always caught in the back of Soran’s throat. He had been the villain in so many people’s stories, he lost count. Jade was no different. He was one in hers. He simply hid it better. He stood by her, allowing her to believe he was good when he was leading her into danger and hiding a vital part of the prophecy from her.

He was foolish enough to allow himself to forget that and cling onto the way she saw him these past few weeks. It warmed him in a way he never experienced. In turn, he allowed her to know him. He hadn’t lied to her these past few nights. Every story he told was the truth, but he purposefully left out the darkness of his past. There was blood on his hands long before he had ever heard Jade’s name.

His back curved against a rock in the forest as his leg stretched, trudging up the dirt with the heel of his boot as he did so. There was a small flickering of light in the distance, showing him the camp was still within sight, but too far to hear any chatter that might have been occurring. It wasn’t as if that mattered, since all he desired was nothing but silence. Everything seemed to cease out here for him, allowing his shoulders to bear their weight against the black glossy stone like he was a part of it.

He hadn’t returned to camp since she’d stormed off. What was there to say? He saw a nightmare play out before him, which he thought with training her, he was able to prevent. He still struggled with shaking the tightness from his chest and the thickness that grew in the back of his throat.

She continually had a way of dredging up the past. It made his muscles tense and his sweat come to the surface as the uneasy lies seemed to pour out of him. He wanted to be left alone. To curve so aligned with the stone against him that he could become a part of the forest, like moss clinging to the rock’s surface for dear life.

The idea didn’t fit him though; he knew that. He wasn’t alive anymore. He would be more like the rock: cold, still while everything else around it moved, and filled with a darkness that shimmered in the presence of the sun.

His palm opened from its tight grasp as he stared down at the blue and gold striped ribbon, faded from centuries of decay, with splattered blood spots embedded in some of its fibers as it dangled. It was still attached to a circular golden medal. Jade had asked about this too at one point. He deflected the question like so many others. He thought about if she had actually seen its condition how she would incessantly pry. It made his stomach knot more than it already had.

His thumb gently grazed over the raised sun signet of the Solaires, with dried blood deep within the grooves. Each ray of sunlight stretched to the end of its circular golden barrier. An air of melancholy would always surround him when he held it in his hand. A heaviness would hit his limbs and he’d be struck with an inability to move or focus on anything else but the blood, dried and clinging against the golden indents. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but that was why he kept it hidden away in the confines of his person, longing for its hold on him to slither away and become lost within his pocket for good.

After all these years, as he stared down at the medal in his grasp, the memory was still vivid. He could still taste the smooth velvety texture of the whiskey as he sipped it while sitting in the barstool. He could still see, as if in front of him, the bartender darting to and from one side of the bar to the other in an effort to refill everyone’s glasses as the patrons’ chatter somehow managed to outmatch the music filling the room.

It wasn’t the best of establishments in Lyndveil. The barstools were uncomfortable, with poorly sanded wooden tops that didn’t conform to anyone’s body in a relaxing manner and there seemed to be only one stool that didn’t wobble when you sat down. Most of the walls were covered in a god-awful mustard yellow wallpaper that had begun to peel at the corners of the ceiling and fold over. Every time he scanned the wallpaper, containing poorly drawn fables scattered around in random patterns, he prayed for the artist who somehow managed to get a commission for his work, and have it plastered around an entire room. Near the door, postings of past events and services had been glued over aged papers of festivities around town; over the years, it had become a thick pile protruding its cement hold against the plaster. On top of that, the smell of the bar was entirely its own creation, with a mixture of olives and mildew wafting at your nose.

The entire place was far from a cozy recluse one would search for after a long day of work. Very, very far from it. Yet, there were two things about it Soran loved: no Highborne would ever step foot in here, and of course, the whiskey was cheap.

Let’s get this man another. One of the royal guards squeezed in between two barstools as he gestured to the bartender, darting around, to pour another whiskey for Soran, once he realized Soran was wearing a royal guard uniform like himself.

The guard was tanned from sitting out in the sun too long with shaggy blonde hair that didn’t match his complexion. Soran knew this, much to his objection. The man wouldn’t stop jabbering about how his new post lacked any awning or shade.

To be fair, it wasn’t just the man’s incessant chatter that made Soran dislike him. He found him unkempt for a royal guard and it slowly itched at him as the man shifted closer to his seat. His gray undershirt was untucked with several of his golden buttons undone at the top of his dark blue jacket, along with several food stains at the top of his black pants. It didn’t help either that the guard had beady eyes scanning the room every so often for a chance to pester anyone who would listen.

Soran leaned over his drink more. His dark black hair hung over into his eyes as he prayed the guard would take a hint at his firmly tensed muscles, hunched inward over the ledge in frustration. Nevertheless, this braggart persisted.

The guard dropped his whiskey offering to Soran a few inches in front of the one Soran was currently still working on.

Ugh. Soran’s clean-shaven jaw clenched as the man knocked into his shoulder, jolting Soran’s current whiskey in hand, spilling a few precious sips onto the bartop.

It was doubtful in his inebriated state that the guard even noticed what he had done. He didn’t even notice that the leftover spillage from drinks along the bar had left a long wet stain against his chest on his jacket, adding one more item to his disheveled appearance.

You need a lot more to catch up to us, the man slurred with a humorous smile as he took another shot.

If Soran’s lip had thinned out anymore, flattening the strong chiseled curve of his chin, it would have ceased existing. He was already pale enough, but his knuckles gripping the edge of the bar in any effort of restraint begged to differ as they went two shades lighter. He was about to snap, that much was clear. He loosened his grip, refraining when he felt someone approaching.

You’d think, he’d already be far past it.

Soran perked up as he recognized Gil’s voice, speaking to the drunken guardsman. Gil’s elbow leaned into the edge of the bar while he placed down on the bartop with emphasis, a shining gold medal with the Solairian crest raised on its surface and a half inch ribbon, seeping with the richest dyes of blue and gold stripes.

Especially when half the town and all royalty within the traveling area showed up to his award ceremony and he was nowhere to be found, Gil said matter-of-factly. It left the king quite irate.

I bet it did. Soran took another sip of his whiskey, hiding the satisfaction on his face, while the royal guard’s eyes widened at the realization of who Soran was.

The guard took a small step back, subtly attempting to tuck his undershirt back underneath the black waistband of his pants. He dipped a few of his fingers in his own whiskey, shaking the excess off, stroking back his long bleached blonde hair in a poor attempt at slicked-back styling.

Gil leaned further into the bar so Soran could get a better view of his frustration as he peered down at him calmly sitting without a care in the world.

You know, your squad and I trekked three weeks to see you accept that medal when we caught word. We left in the midst of the Hollows of Gamora for this.

Soran didn’t flinch. Gil impatiently scratched his well-maintained beard which grew along the entirety of his strong jawline with each dark brown strand neatly falling together. One would expect this for a man who had chosen a groomed city life, but Gil’s attire completely contradicted this.

He wore all black down to the garment peeking through his black leather clothes. It formed around his thick framed muscles. Black plated armor rested on his chest, stamped with engravings of rune magic only known in the old world of Layol. His chest plate wrapped up around his shoulders, conforming to the shape of his deltoids, with three interlocking black flaps of rounded metal to aid in his mobility. Along the beginnings of his wrists to his forearms were two black metal guards with a weaved intricate design that resembled the twist of branches, but in turn were meant to pocket tiny daggers hidden in locked metal sheaths. At his waist rested two short swords, one on either side, accompanied by other attachments to his belt. Most of this only peeked out through the hooded heavy wool cloak that hung over his frame with a single metal pinned clasp of a dark gray Solairian crest.

The clasp was the only thing that showed he worked for the Solairian military, that and the black cloth loosely wrapped around his neck. It was meant to rest snugly on his nose once he placed it up to cover his identity. It also contained the Solairian crest, its rays spreading out like fire over the entire lower half of his face in thread two shades lighter than the fabric itself. Though, if you ever saw it masking his face, chances were, you didn’t live to describe it in further detail.

Imagine my surprise, when King Richard, himself, calls out your name in front of everyone and is met with nothing but silence. You left the man with his dick in his hand. Gil pointed at his own chest with a tightened fist, I had to accept the award on your behalf, just to ease the insult.

I already told him I didn’t want it, Soran said, flatly, taking another sip, not bothering to even look up.

Instead, he peered down at the slowly melting square ice cubes floating in his glass. It was more interesting than the conversation at hand.

You realize, they’ve handed out three of these in its entire existence, Soran. Gil’s back tensed as he pursed the words through his lips, tapping down at the medal on the bartop, causing it to shake.

The soldier next to him clenched at his drink and didn’t dare move, part from wanting to know the details of their dispute, how it would end, and the other part from knowing full well terror locked his feet to the floorboards. It prevented any embarrassing act his state of inebriation might have caused. He glanced over at Soran still in his royal guard uniform, his jacket neatly snapped closed with the golden buttons laced with the royal family signet, a fellow guard like himself.

While toned, his muscles filling out his uniform well, his slender build compared to Gil, with his brawny thick muscular frame made his reaction to Gil’s hovering stance and growing snappishness of tone seem unwise. Gil appeared he could crush a man’s skull between his arms just by flexing.

The guard’s eyes hovered over Gil, and a noticeable shiver went down his spine. Soran was one thing, but Gil was another. Every guard had heard of the soldiers who dressed in black. Their rumors made your blood chill. Even without the rumors, nothing about Gil made anyone want to go head to head with him. His posture resembled a weathered brick that wouldn’t crack even if a chisel and hammer went at it, and his eyes stayed steady, locked on Soran. They were the type of eyes that suggested killing men was common. The only thing soft about him was the cap of tousled brown curls beneath his hood.

As the guard scanned Gil’s black uniform, a gulp locked at the top of his throat, refusing to sink down to ease his breathing. It curled a slight smile onto Soran’s lips, noticing it in the corner of his eye.

By the looks of it, a bar fight seemed inevitable. It appeared Gil was about to lunge at Soran with full force by the way the coarseness of his tone grew and how his hand lifted up at him, unsatisfied with his answer.

Soran finally did him the respect of looking up from his glass. How’d you find me, anyway? he asked, without excitement as one of his eyebrows arched up at Gil.

Please. He rolled his eyes. All I had to do was search for the dirtiest hole in the wall bar that still had the prospects of some pretty face actually falling for your poor excuse for charm and I knew I’d find you. Gil spat the words out with a boldness towards his habits as if it was common knowledge.

Their stares hardened at one another. The soldier gulped. This was it. This was when the fight would happen. It was going down. Now.

Both of their muscles were rigid and tense as their frames stood tall with a tightened posture. At the way Soran held his ground, it would make for an interesting match. By the look of the guard near them, his money was on Gil. The royal guard had never even spotted the type of soldier Gil was with his own eyes. Most of them argued with one another that they even existed, as though they were shadows themselves to draw fear in the royals’ enemies.

No one would believe him on his next shift. Who would believe the odds of one belonging to a hidden guild, with the reputation of the reaper himself, to walk into the bar that they happened to be patronizing.

Once the fighting started, bottles would be flying, smashed over heads and fists swirling in the air. The solider’s hands shook as if he feared he’d be wrapped into it, required to help out a fellow guard out of a sense of loyalty. He looked closer to passing out from the room spinning and the threat of what lay before him than reaching for the sword at his waist, let alone swing it.

After a moment, unexpectedly, Gil and Soran’s lips both curled into a smile before Soran pushed from his seat. He brought Gil into a strong embrace as he spoke, I’ve missed you, my brother. Soran slapped his back as he welcomed him.

And I you. We all have.

They released their hold from one another, and Soran spotted the other four from Gil’s party, men he hadn’t seen in years, but still welcomed him with a smile from afar at a corner table. They all wore the same garments and armor as Gil: dressed in all black with strong muscular builds and the same loose black fabric resting around their necks, revealing their faces.

There was Aiden, whose eyes always possessed an unfleeting kindness no matter the situation, but they still steadily scanned the room and packed patrons within it. His diamond shaped chin barely even moved to alert someone as to the fact he was analyzing the interactions unfolding around him before he was able to relax slightly into his chair.

Then there were Alexander and Phillip, who both had dusty brown hair and square jaws. Alexander swiped his hair to the left and Phillip swiped his hair to the right. It was also important to note that Alexander’s hair was two, possibly three shades lighter than Phillip’s. This was imperative. At least to them. They were often mistaken for twins. Even their evenly matched mannerisms would lead to that assumption. It was the furthest thing from the truth and one they fought over if mentioned. They had already gotten into an animated dispute on something one could only guess, mere moments sitting down at the table. They hadn’t changed one bit.

Lastly, there was Cason, who already rested against his chair with a woman in tow quite close to him, likely someone who caught his gaze the moment he walked in. Of course she was already entranced in his entire devilish demeanor and how his stubble felt against her grazing hand as she traced the curve of his chin while she whispered something in his ear. She even let out a giggle and touched his thigh as he tugged her chair closer to him after he listened to her words.

I see you still haven’t replaced me, even after all these years, Soran made note to Gil as he nodded over at the boys, counting four before taking a sip from his whiskey.

You’re a part of the Solairian Six; you always will be. I would never do you the dishonor. Gil’s eyes hardened at the thought as he spoke with an unfleeting loyalty Soran hadn’t heard in a long time. We don’t replace you unless you die.

Soran gave him a warm acknowledgement at the tribute, nodding over to the table as he made eye contact with the bartender. Can I get a round for my friends? Then, turning back to Gil with a suspicious smile, he asked, You aren’t just here for the award ceremony, are you?

Neither of them acknowledged the disheveled royal guard spying on their encounter, slipping away behind them, taking his drink in tow with a haste that should have caught suspicion. They were both too caught up in their reunion to care.

Am I that obvious? Gil’s eyes perked at Soran’s hunch with a gleam of mischief in his smile. His brown eyes seemed to laugh in the moment as he discovered he had been caught.

It would take more than that to bring you back to this shit hole.

Which is why I never understood why you decided to come back. You always hated this place.

Soran leaned forward onto the bar with a restrained acceptance, rubbing the back of his neck. Orders are orders.

Gil pointed for another after downing his drink.

You’re an elite soldier, not a babysitter, he spat with vigor as he lifted his eyes looking back at his men at the table. You were trained for more than this. Let me speak to the Council on your behalf. We need you back leading us. It is not the same without you.

It is because of my training that I was positioned here. I do what’s best for the court. That is what we have always done. Honestly, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.

Please. Gil swatted his glass away. I can even tell you’re bored here. The man can take care of himself. This was strictly a political move and you know it. When was the last time they credited you, us, for anything we’ve done? Gil huffed in a low growl. You’ve done dozens more daring things before this acknowledgment. It should only be more of a reason to keep you in the field, not pull you from it. Something is not right; it feels funny. He rubbed the bottom of his chin, feeling the bristles against his fingers. I don’t like it.

Soran didn’t say a word. He merely looked at him as he finished his drink as if it gave him a sense of strength in the moment. After a breath, a strained smile formed on his face.

You think they wish to make you the next Guardian? Gil asked. His lips tightened at his words.

I’m not sure. Soran placed down his glass as his fingers traced his eyebrows in an effort to dissipate his stress. But there have been whispers that I’m being sought for as selection.

You’d have to go before Layol herself and be tested. Gil’s face went pale. He squeezed his empty glass. I heard she kills the ones deemed unworthy. Only the Guardians and the Solaires have ever seen her. You…you can’t.

I’m well aware.

Soran wished to disassociate from both their worry, not discuss it further. He could be judged quite heavily. He wasn’t even sure what type of man he was, let alone what a god would judge him as.

Well in that case. Gil gestured over to the bartender. Two doubles please.

He poured heavy in their glasses.

I’d say it was a great honor, but we both know you. Gil gleamed with a playful grin. I doubt Layol will favor you. He lifted his glass to a toast after bellowing a laugh. Our lives have always been on borrowed time; we might as well drink until we forget while we still can!

Soran clanged against Gil’s glass with a warmth in a sarcastic cheer. Thanks for the support, my brother. He chuckled, shaking his head back at him before he shot back his entire drink, allowing it to soothe him in one fell swoop.

After he had heard the whispers, he had barely felt the need to eat anything all day, but it did wonders for the alcohol as it filled him. The whiskey coated his tongue, warming his core. This was the only substance he needed at the moment.

As he slammed the glass back onto the table, he felt Gil’s hand rest on his shoulder, his voice lacking in all humor while staring at him with a severity that deemed attention, If anyone deserves it, it’s you.

A soft smile rose on Soran’s lips as he said, Another? and Gil promptly obliged.

If Soran could leave and rejoin his men, he would. He longed for the excitement again, to hold his blade with real purpose. Nothing in the city got his blood pumping. He missed the brotherhood: the jabs and loyalty. There was nothing like that in Lyndveil.

At that moment, a woman slowly touched Soran’s forearm, calling his attention to her.

Can I get the next one for you? she said with a tempting look, her vibrant velvet crimson curls dangling loosely into her face. Her dark red lips beamed at him with a corruption that would lure most men without a second thought.

Any other night, I’d be flattered, but I have some friends I haven’t seen in quite some time. Soran politely dismissed her, turning his attention back to Gil.

Nonsense, Gil chimed in, smacking his shoulder as he gazed at the woman before them in fine silks draped to the floor. You do not turn a woman like this down. He smiled kindly at her, turning his attention back at Soran. I’m here for a few days. It would be rude to dismiss her offer. A warmth lit up Gil’s lips as he smiled, gleaming at her taking an innocent step forward while she listened to him. Especially when Lyndveil seems to still host some of the most beautiful women.

A light rosiness blushed to her cheeks as he flattered her, making her eyes dart away bashfully from his stare. Well for your kind words, I’ll buy you and the rest of your group drinks.

The moment she lifted her hand, the bartender instantly changed direction, ignoring half the crowd to tend to her.

As the round of drinks were poured, Gil beamed with approval at her offer, leaning his back against the bar. He took in the rounded curves of her body tucked tightly away in her corset, lifting his eyes to her heart shaped face that appeared to have just been refreshed with a dose of powder against her pearly white cheeks. It managed to make her red lipstick pop more to show the plump and softness in her smile.

My lady knows how to make the room shine with blessings, he thanked her. While lifting the tray, heading to his table, he turned in the crowd of people with a handsome grin, calling back to her, When he strikes out, feel free to come see me.

Why is that? She played into him.

A seductive smirk rose to his face. I can be the utmost gentleman until you no longer want me to be. Gil winked at her flushed cheeks, turning and heading for his table.

She seemed pleased with the encounter as she slid into the open chair next to Soran, ignoring the bustling of the busy bar around her.

He doesn’t seem to have much faith in us courting, now does he? A light smile lit her lips against her pale skin as she played with him, touching his arm ever so gently before taking it back.

It appears not. Soran finished his drink with a soft chuckle as the ice hit his lips, draining every last bit of whiskey from the glass. So what brings you into the slums of Lyndveil?

What makes you think I’m slumming it? The young woman tilted her head up at him with a quick reply and intrigue, but he noticed she was refraining from tapping the edge of the bar insatiably from his question which made his shoulders perk up.

He gazed down at her extravagant gown draped around the chair. It was a vibrant red, made of silk that loosely fell after the embroidery on her bodice ended. Even her cloak was a fine garment as it draped around her shoulders with a gray underlining to the ivory silk outside, embellished with gray details along the hem. She made no mistake, her cloak was pushed far enough back to reveal the recently polished golden brooch clasped to the top of her corset to draw a man’s eye downward to her bust tightly pressed up within it. There was no ounce of intention to use this to become a lamb at the slaughter. She saw this tool as quite the opposite, using their lingering eyes full well to her advantage when she saw fit. Her back was tall and straight as she sat in the rickety bar stool. She was a Highborne if he ever saw one.

The reasons escape me, my lady. Soran leaned his side into the bar edge, humored by her question.

If you must know… she began, settling into the side of the bar, the same as him in an effort to mimic his moves.

It was as if what he did came abnormal to her. There was a proper air to her as she rested into the wood that she aimed to hide, as if bothered by the filth of the bar against her forearm.

I came to the city for the ceremony.

I heard it was lovely. A smile flashed onto Soran’s face with a humor he kept all to himself as he spoke and thought of Gil’s words about the king.

I wanted a solider. No one seemed to strike my fancy though, she admitted, and she didn’t do it timidly either.

There was a demand in her voice that was unbending, commanding his eyes to stay on her, that and every other man within hearing range who was secretly staring at her the moment she sat down at the bar.

Well you’re in luck. You’ll find them scattered around the city in every bar you enter and at post every few blocks.

It didn’t seem to have an effect on him as he turned his attention back to his glass.

I quite fancy you. She peered down, tapping her fingers along the bar, the untouched glass of whiskey she ordered for him, a mere few inches away. You haven’t sipped your whiskey yet, she stated, mild irritation growing in the inflection of her voice as she tilted her chin up at him.

He held back his smirk, knowing full well, he’d offended her. I’ve had a rather trying day and like I stated before, I’m flattered but I haven’t seen my friends in quite some time. Maybe another night.

The stool scraped against the floorboards as he forced it out from the bar to head to the table, leaving the drink on the bar top. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her beautiful; he found her exquisite, every man in the room did. But, he hated the way she viewed him. It was all in her eyes. She gazed at him like he was beneath her and they both should acknowledge it. She was bred for wealth and intelligence, and he was something that could never fit close to her standards.

Her eyes darted to the whiskey, then back at him as she gripped her wrist, rubbing against her bone sharply.

As he rose to leave, something changed in her. Her hand rested back on his forearm, this time with a greater force, to get him to stop. You’re far more interesting than I gave you credit for. There was an air of respect as she scanned him standing before her. She admired the challenge. Not many men had told her no before.

In that moment, her eyes scanned him like a piece of meat she had to have, to toy with on the tines on her fork and devour when she deemed fit. Aren’t you in need of a little excitement, Lieutenant?

She propped her elbows onto the bar, pressing her back into it, no longer caring if the filth stained her cloak as she attempted to lure him back. She was invested in keeping him close to her. It was hard to deny there was something tempting in that.

What do you know about excitement?

She was unable to hold back a smile on her face with a secret kept all to herself, tucked away in the corner of her lips. He felt an overwhelming urge to unlock it.

Well I sure know you’re lacking some as of late. How many years have they wasted your talent while you’re stuck here in Lyndveil? Her legs kicked playfully as he took a step closer to her while his eyes widened. In a quick reply, her hand quickly rose to her o shaped lips that appeared like a cat drawing in a mouse rather than apologetic. Pardon me. She tilted her head, attempting to appear bashful before he had a chance to react. You tend to overhear some conversations in a loud bar such as this.

It is rather loud, isn’t it? He moved toward her with skepticism, waiting for her to play her hand more.

Her finger tapped her pursed lips as she thought for a breath. I’m assuming you fought in the Pearl Battles. Her finger pointed down at him with a mischievous gleam that grew as his eyes narrowed.

How did you know I fought?

His interest was now piqued, realizing she was more observant than he originally gave her credit for. He was mindful to keep that information close to the chest. While Gil and Soran didn’t speak in hushed tones, they didn’t shout either. He swore he didn’t see her near him when anything of note left his lips. It made him wish to stay, simply to discover more.

A good guess, but I’m glad I’m right. She popped off the stool and brought the glass over to him, propositioning once again. I told him to pour a 25 year aged barrel. She plopped it down in his hand with an arrogance that he would catch it. It’s one of the smoothest tastes to pass your lips.

The glass chilled his hand as his eyes lingered over it for a few breaths. He couldn’t place it, but there was something off about her which kept flashing throughout her demeanor in their brief encounter that he didn’t like. He gently handed back the glass with a handsome well-mannered glance as he declined once again. The whiskey I have tastes just fine.

You’re missing out. She held back her snap, but it still came out with the finishings of a snarl.

He tilted his hand up at her, tilting his head, displaying a poor excuse for a bow with a mocking gleam in his eyes, jutting his chin out at her nipping attitude before he took a step to leave.

How about you taste me instead? she said in an alluring tone that struck him with her forwardness.

It was something that would never come out of a Highborne’s mouth. It made him turn around if only to merely check if he had heard her right.

Excuse me?

There were dozens of men at the bar that had eyed her and were clearly an easier mark than him, yet she still desired him for which he wasn’t sure why.

She had already placed the drink on the table, Oh please. She rolled her eyes, quickly closing the distance between them. Let’s not pretend I’m some delicate flower with a fragile sensibility that needs you to skirt around what we both really want.

She stared up at him with an enticing determination, scanning the strong frame of his jaw before her sight lingered over his build filled underneath his uniform. Just her eyes trailing his body made him lean in close enough to her and take in the floral notes to her perfume.

I want a boorish man- a brute, so you say. She lifted her hands up at him without restraint, after she slid down the fabric of his jacket to neatly rest against his shoulders. You seem to fit the bill.

It’s forbidden. He peered down at her as the temptation struck him.

He finally did himself the service of allowing his eyes to linger down her body to the aged golden necklace with rubies resting just above the ivory hue of her clavicle that he wished to tear off to avoid any obstructions that would refrain from him feeling the softness of her skin against his lips. His stare lowered to the perky roundness of her breasts held back from the tightness of her corset, craving to break free, and to the frame of her hips flaring out like an hourglass, hiding the rest of her beneath the cloaking of her skirts.

You’re a lady. He bit his lip as she stared at him knowingly with a gleam that showed they were both aware she snared him. I’m not even sure what region you’re from.

His voice lacked conviction in the excuses he made and all restraint. It meant nothing. He had never asked her name. There was never the intention to do so, nor did he have any desire to know it. It was clear he was grasping at straws. Even she knew his mind was wandering to lifting her skirt up, feeling the warmth of her flesh against his touch as he trailed up her inner thigh, making her shudder, something that would make most Highborne women blush. Instead she seemed to welcome the idea, not only with a seduction in her eye, but a thirst for it.

It’s only an issue if you get caught, she reminded him, slowly taking a step forward, clearing all space between them. She gently took one of the golden buttons on his jacket between her fingers, playing with it, as she watched his lips parting at the idea. It gets your blood pumping now, doesn’t it? She leaned in, whispering with a tantalizing tone, warming his ear. I promise, you’ll thoroughly enjoy everything you taste tonight.

The thought weakened his knees as he pondered what depraved fun they could indulge themselves in. It shot a rush through him, begging to be satiated.

Soran decided quicker than he anticipated as the music and chatter in the room seemed to drown out. Before he knew it, he took her hand and slipped her out the back into a dimly lit alleyway and shoved her up against the brick facing wall the moment the door snapped behind them.

She looked unimpressed, thinking it timid in nature.

I asked for a brute, she demanded, feeling the force wasn’t enough for her as the grooves of the brick pressed against her.

She unclasped her cloak, having it fall to the ground before his body managed to mesh against hers. He didn’t wait as his lips parted, forming against hers like the shapes of a puzzle piece resting seamlessly together as someone snapped it into place.

His lips still tasted of the cheap whiskey he had been drinking all night which only reinforced her lips to treat him with a delicate restraint as she kept her ulterior motives in the forefront of her mind. That is until she felt his tongue. It slipped past to hers and danced in a rhythm she did not know. A rhythm that showed the base of his desire to her wasn’t tender; a dance that left her limbs immobilized as a wave of pleasure shot through her core that told her she was his and he had the power to bestow exactly what she wanted with the flick of his tongue. He told her this all with how his tongue played against hers with a playful roughness that made her lose all sensibility.

It was all it took for her true motives to slip from her mind as her tongue hungered to move against his and curve her lips against him as a short wave of pleasure struck down to her thighs. He felt this, causing his lips to move against hers and his hips to move in closer to hers, digging into her sides with a stronger intention than she was anticipating, but one she quickly welcomed and reciprocated.

He savored the taste of her lips against his and the feeling of her hands lifting up his shirt to feel his body underneath. All of it sent a sensation through his core as he pressed her back into the stone, the markings of each brick stamping their impressions into her flesh. As his tongue toyed with hers and his lips tugged at her, he would part from her for a few seconds, tilting his head slightly back. A satisfaction hit his eyes as he watched a thirst to taste him uncontrollably seep from her. It was by the way she leaned toward him for any brush against him to soothe the urge.

Their warmth radiated against one another as her hands trailed down to his pants and she began tugging