A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Twenty-seven

Twenty-seven

Ophir tried not to move. She resisted the urge to make any noise. She didn’t want to wake Dwyn. With extreme caution, she swallowed and looked over her shoulder to see…nothing.

“I think there’s room in the bed for three, Princess,” Tyr whispered in her ear, his bodyweight pressing down into the mattress behind her. “The sofa isn’t particularly comfortable.” His arm draped against her front, forearm settling into the space between her breasts as his hand cupped the space near her face. His hips pressed into her backside, and she could feel, in no uncertain terms, that he was wide awake.

“It seemed comfortable enough to me,” she whispered, heart skipping several beats.

“Yes, but you’re not there.”

Her breathing hitched. She wondered if he could feel the way her entire body warmed as if she’d unwillingly summoned her gift for flame. Damn, traitorous body. It wanted what it wanted.

“Shh,” he whispered. “You’ll wake her.” Tyr squeezed Ophir to him ever so slightly, without stirring Dwyn where she slept. He brushed his thumb against Ophir’s lips, then lowered the tips of his fingers lower to rest against her thundering heart.

“Are you nervous, princess?”

She struggled to remain calm. Yes, he did make her nervous. Not because he was a man, and not because he was in her bed, but because he was a phantom mere inches away from the space she shared with Dwyn. His disregard for taboo had her heart thundering, which he could doubtlessly feel from where his arm rested. He seemed to like playing with fire, and she was flame personified.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping he’d hear the blatant untruth in her word.

“You know…I can tell when you’re lying.”

Ophir bit her lower lip, hard. His hand slid up from where it had monitored her heart. It gently clasped over her mouth to silence her.

Tyr remained in the space between things, likely enjoying the pleasure of remaining unseen. She couldn’t anticipate his movements, nor would the siren awaken to spot him. Ophir’s breath caught as he explored her body with a careful, teasing hand. A finger dragged along her spine, drawing its way down her back; it traced along the crease down her center as it sought her warm, tender center. Her hips rocked slightly, pushing into him.

“Do you want to know what I have on my mind?” he asked in her ear.

“No,” she whispered back.

“Liar.”

Dwyn rolled away in her sleep, dead to the world.

Ophir swallowed, and he continued to whisper against her hair. “One of these nights, I’d love to slip inside you with your favorite witch an inch away from us, Princess. How fun.” His words released a rush of water into the space between her thighs. She felt her body heat, her hips rocking again instinctively. The wall of his back pushed against her. Tyr moved his arms so that his underarm could slip beneath her head, keeping her face in gentle control in case she might be at risk of making noise.

With a cruel dismissal, he gave a quiet command as his lips brushed her ear.

“Go to bed, Firi.”

His game was clever. Dangle, and deny. She wasn’t na?ve. She knew what he was doing. And part of her admired him for how well it was working. It did make her want. She sighed in frustration.

Good for him.

She wiggled her hips against him ever so slowly, moving in a way that encouraged his hand to move farther south. He slipped his fully cupped hand into the space between her thighs, leaving it there while she throbbed, wanting more.

Tyr stilled against her with an unmistakable smile on his mouth, leaving his hand cupped against her to feel her ready warmth soaking his fingers, though he denied her what she wanted. His fingertips possessed saintly control as he refused to slip a single finger beyond her entrance, no matter how her eagerness flooded his hand. She stifled an impatient sound. In return, he moaned appreciatively against her neck, which only made her hips rock more greedily against him. She could feel from the hard length of him that his body was just as hungry for intimacy as hers, but he made no moves to satiate his hunger.

“You’ll wake Dwyn if you keep moving like that.”

“Let her wake up,” she challenged.

He left his hands draped so that one pinned her to him from beneath her head, and the other cupped the hot, sensitive place between her thighs. He’d inferred precisely what she’d meant and smiled. “Goodnight, Princess.”

Her frustrated grasp elicited a soft, appreciative chuckle from the man.

“Soon.” He kissed her neck once more.

“I still hate you,” she whispered.

“I told you”—he smiled—“I can tell when you’re lying.”

Ophir hadn’t thought she’d be able to fall asleep, but she’d been wrong. Between the pressed warmth of their bodies, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless rest. She may have slept well into the morning if it hadn’t been for the angered shriek that shook her violently from her slumber.

While she’d remained comfortably trapped between Dwyn and Tyr, the opposing Sulgrave fae had rather unintentionally draped themselves in such a way so that Tyr’s arm was over Dwyn’s back and her foot was resting on his calf. To say she was displeased when she opened her eyes to find the man in their bed would have been an understatement.

“Get out, dog!” Dwyn had to shove Ophir to shake Tyr off of them.

“Is someone angry that we all slept well? Let me guess, Dwynie, best night you’ve had in months?” Tyr mocked.

“Fuck off.” She was already jumping out of bed and dressing for the day, grabbing her shirt and pants with more fury than should have been acceptable at such an early hour. “I will never want you in our bed.”

“Never say never.” He winked.

Ophir took her time gathering her things and getting her clothes on while they fought. The Sulgrave pair had never made the slightest attempt at camaraderie. Dwyn seemed to get more and more hostile toward Tyr as their time on the road progressed. They continued yelling at one another in the cabin. Ophir’s eyes flitted from the siren to the still-shirtless man. He had slipped his arms through the sleeves of his shirt but had not yet pulled it over his head. His chest, shoulder, and neck still bore the looping curls of his black tattoo.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Ophir laced the front of her tunic over her chest as she looked over her shoulder. “Your tattoos. They’re so similar. Does everyone from Sulgrave have something like that?”

They stilled in their fight a bit too quickly. Dwyn had appeared to be in the midst of raising her fist to douse Tyr with water when her hand went motionless above her head. She lowered it slowly as they both looked at the princess.

“What?” Suspicion surged through Ophir. “What is it?”

“Yes,” Dwyn answered coolly, addressing the question. She relaxed from where she’d tensed mid-fight. Her words came out wooden at first, finding their stride as she worked her way through the sentence. “It’s tradition to get them once you reach adulthood in Sulgrave. I would say that most of Sulgrave’s citizens have them.”

Disbelief pricked the back of Ophir’s neck. Something about the way they’d both acted as though cold water had been dumped over their heads made it seem like she’d struck a chord that she hadn’t been meant to pluck. The princess’s brow twitched as she fought the urge to arch it skeptically. If it was true, they would have brushed it off and continued their verbal battle, wouldn’t they?

“You don’t get a lot of exposure to Sulgrave fae, so I’m not surprised that you haven’t seen it before,” Dwyn continued, keeping her voice too easy, too light.

“Is this your gang?” Ophir asked, looking from one to the other. “This tattoo?” Her eyes trained on Tyr. “You did say that Dwyn was in it once, didn’t you? Why would you lie about it?”

“Shit.” Tyr heard a sound at the same time as the women. They paused amid their discussion to turn to the noise.

“Let me do it.” Ophir grumbled as she moved toward the door. The others made sounds and moves to stop her, but she was already reaching for the handle. “Stay out of sight. At least I look like I’m from Farehold. This will go down more easily if I talk to him.”

Dwyn peered out the window at the approaching shape. “I think he’s human.”

“Even easier.” She smiled. “Go out the back. I can do this.”