“Are you done?” he asked, picking at his nails.
His question only riled her up again. She wasn’t near done. “The journey was hell to get here, Pyre,” she spat. “Did Brine tell you we were ambushed in the forest? A bloody dragon appeared! I didn’t even know those existed anymore. And then—” she held her hands in the air “—he shifted. It was a lucky thing that I had something he wanted, or he would have slaughtered us all for whatever perceived slight he imagined between us.”
Pyre stiffened. “Did you barter with him?”
His tone of voice had her stomach quivering. “I did what I had to. You should be thankful. If it weren’t for me, your men would be dead.”
Pyre’s eyes sharpened. “What did you give him?”
“None of your business,” she replied, careful to avoid touching her hair beneath her ear where a lock of it was missing. It was only hair, so why didn’t she want to tell him? Tempest shook her head and turned the conversation back on the kitsune. “And what are you doing dealing with damn dragons, anyway?” She stabbed a finger at the door. “There was one here not even five minutes ago!”
He shrugged. “It seems as if you had a full day, Temp.” The glint in his eyes changed, and he scanned her from head to toe and back again. She crossed her arms, feeling like he could see right through her nightgown. Why had she dropped her blanket? “Going by the way you’re shivering, I’d say you’re in need of a warm drink in front of the fire.”
It truly was freezing standing barefoot on the cold stone. The cavernous room was drafty. For a moment, she considered saying no, but practicality won out over her insatiable desire to make Pyre as miserable as she was. She nodded slowly and rubbed the bare skin of her arms. The chill seemed to go as deep as her bones.
“Then, let’s go to my study,” he replied, a pleased smile lifting his lips. “I have some tea brewing in there, and it’s a hell of a lot warmer than in here. Come, follow me.”
Pyre started for the door, his boots echoing on the etched stone floor. She darted back to her filched blanket, shook it out, and then wrapped it around her shoulders. Quickly, she snatched her bag from the ground and followed him through the huge double doors. He led her down a series of winding corridors lined with columns until they reached a very ordinary-sized, wooden door. The kitsune opened the door and indicated for Tempest to enter first. She sighed at the wave of heat that welcomed her. Tempest hummed in relief as her toes sank into a plush rug. She wasted no time tossing her bag next to a cushioned armchair near the fire and then collapsing into it. It was so nice to be off her feet after days of traveling. Her brows slashed together as she inspected the room closer.
“This room looks as if it was taken straight out of your cottage in the forest,” she mused, noting the paintings on the wall, the old wooden desk, and chipped kettle sitting in the fire, releasing a little steam from the spout. The place felt homey. Nothing like the cave, her lavish temporary chamber, or the cavernous meeting hall they’d just come from.
“That was the point,” he replied. Pyre knelt beside the fire to remove the kettle. “Even one such as I needs his home comforts… even during a rebellion.”
One such as I. She pursed her lips and stared at her lap. It was little moments like this that she forgot what he was, who he was. It would be her downfall if she wasn’t careful. He was the Jester, not her Pyre.
He’s not your anything.
“Temp?”
She lifted her head, and he flashed her a grin.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pouring a cup of tea.
“Nothing that would interest you,” she murmured.
“Everything you do interests me.”
Her heart stuttered. He’s playing you. Proceed with caution. She nodded at the teacup. “I hope that’s for you. Tea won’t cut it this time. You have any fire whiskey?” She didn’t drink spirits that often, but whiskey was the only thing that would chase the chill from her bones. Then, she’d have some tea.
Pyre chuckled and set the kettle back on its stand before moving from the fire to a glass-fronted cabinet behind the desk. He set the teacup on the wooden desk and removed a small bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. “Anything for my Lady Hound.”
“Do not call me that,” Tempest warned. “You know I hate it.” It reminded her of Destin, someone she wanted nothing to do with.
An emotion flashed through Pyre’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for her to discern. She wasn’t the only one hiding things.
With deft hands, he poured two fingers of fire whiskey into a glass and then another with less. He picked up both glasses and moved to her side, holding the one with more spirits out to her. She took it carefully from him, her fingers brushing his. Something electric passed between them, but she ignored it. Tempest swirled her whiskey while Pyre sat in the armchair opposite her. She eyed his drink. If he was aiming to get her drunk, it wouldn’t happen. She was more careful than that. Plus, she had too many secrets that could come spilling out if she wasn’t cautious.
He raised his glass. “To surviving brigands, smugglers, and dragons, then.”
The smallest of smiles curled Tempest’s lips despite herself. She had survived all three, and, at least for a little while, she could rest and recover, but she didn’t raise her glass.
He frowned. “Not celebrating?”
She shrugged and took a small sip. “Seems wrong to tempt fate.”
“Fate?” he murmured. “Doesn’t exist.”
“Agreed, but let’s be careful, shall we? No need to be disrespectful to the powers that be.”
Pyre smirked. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m the Jester. I am the powers that be.”
Fourteen
Pyre
Tempest’s scent was killing him.
Every breath he inhaled made the primal side of himself roll beneath his skin. He was simultaneously drawn closer to her and repelled at the same time. The intoxicating smell of pine needles, mint, and female made his mouth water, but it was the scent of the dragon and Chesh that sent him almost to the edge of a frenzied madness he could barely suppress. The fingers of his left hand drummed along the arm of the chair as he tried to breathe only through his mouth. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to be in such close quarters with her?
Because she’s never affected you this way before.
He scowled and glared at the fireplace. What was his problem? His control was legendary.
And then there was the way she looked…
Pyre glanced at Tempest from the corner of his eye. Her hair was a wild, wavy mess around her face and tumbled down her back. The blanket she’d been using as a cloak had slipped off her right shoulder, revealing pale, creamy skin. Skin he wanted to lick and bite.
He grunted and took another sip of the fire whiskey, savoring the burn. Tempest shifted in her chair, the blanket slipping farther, so he got a better look at her form beneath the silken nightgown. It was modest and covered more than most of the dresses women wore to court, and yet… It clung to every curve of her, exaggerating the lines of her body in such a way that it almost felt indecent. Pyre was struck by his desire to toss the young woman over his shoulder, take her to some white-columned temple, and worship her in every way he could think of. He tossed his hat onto his desk and loosened his neck tie.