Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(77)

Leo had pegged her as a good time—which she absolutely was—and had wanted to associate with her based on that factor alone. In truth, she and Leo were similar, like reflections of each other. But Julian… he and Wren were more like opposites. She was rash and bold, where he was thoughtful and strategic. She liked to laugh, to find the humor in situations, no matter how dark. He took things seriously, treating even those who meant him harm with respect.

They didn’t reflect one another, but rather, seemed to round each other out. Like puzzle pieces fitting together.

Julian’s expression was shuttering, his emotions closing off, and Wren realized she had yet to respond. He had bared something to her, bared himself and his desires, and she had not reciprocated. She was naked, but it was not the same thing.

He was so close, she could see the way his pulse jumped in his throat, and she would bet Ghostbane twice over that he was desperate to unsay his words, to take it all back—it’s what she would have wanted to do. But he didn’t. He stood by them, even if it was killing him to do so.

“Can you swim?” she whispered.

“What?” he asked, taken aback. “Yes.”

Before she could think better of it, she took hold of his wrist and pulled.

His eyes bugged out before he came diving, headfirst, into the water.

Wren shoved herself backward, waiting until he emerged, shocked and spluttering. He tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes, turning in place until he located her. The surprise on his face shifted—not into anger but into something fierce and competitive.

He lunged for her, and Wren cried out, kicking off the side to push herself out of reach and diving under. She made for the open door, swimming out into the wider spring. She came up for air, Julian surfacing behind her a second later. The rain was still coming down in sheets, trickling off the rocks above and dousing them like they were under a waterfall.

He shook away his hair again and pushed forward to cut off her retreat.

Wren shrieked, spinning around, but she was trapped against the rocky shore. He approached slowly now, knowing he had her, smiling triumphantly. The sight of it made her already tight stomach constrict even further.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he said, planting his hands on either side of her, caging her in.

It was hard to swim without kicking him, and Wren struggled with warring emotions. She wanted to fight, to laugh, to demand that he make her in one breath, then beg him if he didn’t in the next.

They were close now, so close, and the intense, mischievous glint in Julian’s eye turned wary. Uncertain.

“I don’t want to finish this without you either,” Wren said quietly, feeling like she was flayed open.

His expression softened at her words, and his attention fell to Wren’s mouth again. His gaze was heated, intense, and then he reached out with a tentative hand. His thumb landed on the edge of her bottom lip, dragging against the skin. Did some of the eye black remain, or had he wanted to touch her skin, bared to him at last?

She wondered if she looked more appealing to him this way, without the obvious markings of a bonesmith. Or less? Was the draw between them the thrill of the enemy? Of the unknown? Or was it something else? Something… more?

In response to his touch, Wren’s tongue shot out, following the path his thumb had traced. He watched it, his expression hungry, and she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She pushed off the rock behind her, crashing into him, legs wrapping around his middle and fingers raking through his hair.

Her lips met his, soft and smooth and the tiniest bit salty with spring water.

Though she had made the first move, he met her with enthusiasm, and when their mouths opened, it was his tongue sliding into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Warmth suffused her skin, spreading from the point of contact, making her face flush.

His hands splayed on her back, unmoving at first, then with a soft growl sliding lower. He clutched her, dragged her against him, resisting the ebb and flow of the water and creating a rhythm entirely their own. Wren’s lips burned, glittering heat sweeping her body. And his mouth… Wren wanted to devour him. She dove into the kiss, biting and teasing and drawing him closer, closer, closer.

Though she had wanted to touch Julian’s hair ever since she’d first met him, to thoroughly mess it up—which she did—her hands began to stray… down his neck and across his shoulders, his heart thudding beneath her fingertips as she slid her palms against his chest. She was careful to avoid the place where the arrow had almost killed him, assuming there was a painful bruise, and instead trailed her fingers down his arms. Through the dampened fabric of his shirt, she felt a raised ridge, like a scar….

Julian jerked away from her, removing his hands from her body and using them to push against the rocky shore, putting space between them. His pupils were blown wide, his hair standing on end, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I—I’m sorry,” Wren managed, though her brain was foggy and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she was apologizing for. Everything, most likely. She was usually at fault when things went awry.

“No, I…” He looked away, throat working as he swallowed. The rain was still falling, though it was more of a mist now, collecting in droplets on his skin and sticking his eyelashes together. “This was a bad idea.”

Wren nodded. Though it seemed she’d been naked more often than not in the past twelve hours, she felt exposed for the first time. Vulnerable.