Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (43)

A fluttering erupted in my stomach at the reminder, at the sweltering wonderings of what that might eventually entail. “I am indeed.” I clutched at the rough blue material of his royally decorated jacket.

His fingers traced the curve of my cheek. My eyes closed at the gentle touch. When he reached my chin, he tipped it high, and my eyes opened to deep blue. “You do not go anywhere without me or those I have assigned to escort you.”

I blinked several times. I’d known he would not be impressed by my plan, but I hadn’t realized it would be such an issue. “Surely that is un—”

“Hush.” My brows rose, but I lost my annoyance when his lips squashed mine in an unyielding embrace. He was spearmint and whiskey, a spiced heat that forced my submission. I gladly surrendered, but then he tore away. “You’re a thorn in my ass, butterfly.”

I scowled. He thought I was the thorn?

As though I were wearing my thoughts, he smirked and walked to the stairs. “Just wait until tonight. I’ll take you myself.”

I had half a mind to say no and go without him.

“Leave, and I’ll tie you to my bed to torture you for every minute you made me spend hunting you down.” He paused before reaching the stairs, a look thrown over his shoulder that made my blood dance in my veins. “And sweet, I would love nothing more than to blemish your silken skin with my hands and teeth.”

I stood there in shock, uncertain if I was worried or aroused.

Aroused, I determined as I looked at the doors with an almost unbearable desire to see just how long it would take him to find me.





We didn’t materialize, and I was grateful.

I didn’t want to miss the journey downhill into the city, no matter how dark and cold it had grown. Though it seemed I was not permitted to roam far either.

The king pulled me back with a look that said to wait as he rounded the carriage to talk with the driver.

I looked up at the night sky, the breeze a chilled kiss upon my cheeks. Smoke rose from chimneys toward the stars. The building beside me was slumbering, as were most others in the street.

I was led down an alleyway so narrow, my arms almost brushed the damp stone as I trailed the king to a door in the deep dark. He opened it, and I bumped against his coat-covered bulk in the tight space. “After you.”

I looked through the door to the sconces glowing on either side of a steep set of stairs. “Where are we going?”

“Dinner.” Noting my confusion, perhaps even my dismay, he asked dryly, “Problem?”

The right answer would be no.

The smart thing to do would be to smile sweetly and descend those stairs. But as I glanced down the alleyway to the awaiting carriage on the street, I couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment.

I couldn’t keep from answering honestly, “Actually, yes.”

“You’re not hungry?” Florian asked with puckered brows. “I know you didn’t eat lunch.”

Olin was a rotten tattletale.

Truth be told, my appetite was waning more and more each day. Likely due to a different hunger that was building with a near-painful impatience that stole my sleep each night.

But I didn’t dare inform him of that. “I could eat,” I said carefully, then, “but I wanted to visit the city for a reason, Florian.”

I had hoped the use of his name would help lessen how much I was offending him by making him aware his efforts were not what I desired.

The king stared at me for a worrying moment. The frosted air around us began to bite. Finally, he blinked. “This is about your family.”

I nodded.

He licked his lips, then sighed. “I do have news. We’ll discuss it over dinner.” Again, he gestured for me to enter the stairwell.

Gazing up at him, the light misting of dark hair that fell over one of his eyes, I struggled to keep from demanding that he tell me such news right this instant, for he should have certainly already told me. It was part of our agreement, and he was well aware of my desperation to discover all I could.

I reminded myself that it didn’t matter how reverently he touched me—and how he made me wish he would touch me more—the male I was becoming grossly attracted to was still a king.

And I was to be nothing but grateful for what he deigned to provide me.

We climbed down to a surprisingly warm restaurant.

A female stood behind the bar made of glass, bottles of liquor aglow on the shelves behind her. Rounding the bar, she curtsied and brushed her hands upon her apron. “Florian,” she said brightly.

I frowned at her casual address of him.

Florian smiled in a way I’d only seen a small number of times, real and warm. “Jessilba, thank you for accommodating us on such short notice.”

“No need to thank us. It’s always a pleasure.” She gave me a curious once-over while tucking her golden hair behind her pointed ear, then said, “We’ve readied your table. This way.”

We were escorted to a round metal table surrounded by circular booth seats. An entrée of some type of fish and a decanter of wine already awaited.

Florian made sure I was seated comfortably upon the rich brown velvet before settling opposite me. Jessilba waited, then reached for the wine. He stopped her. “I’ll do it, thank you.”

A dismissal, for the faerie smiled and dipped her head. “Your meals will be ready shortly.”