My escape had been foolish and ill-planned, borne of my need to find my brother and…yes, panic. Not because of what Casteel had done in the banquet hall, but because of the soul-crushing sense of helplessness and…
Letting the soap slip through my fingers, I lifted my hand to the bite on my neck. An achy pulse coiled low in my stomach. That. That had a lot to do with why I ran.
I opened my eyes, fishing the bar of soap from the water. In the quiet stillness of the room, I recognized the truth of my situation. Escape would be nearly impossible, even with longer lead time, supplies including bloodstone, and more amicable weather.
Kieran would track me.
Casteel would come for me.
Sighing, I leaned back against the tub and stayed in the water until I almost forgot how cold I’d been. Finally, I climbed out. After drying off, I pulled the nightgown from my bag, relieved to find that it was dry. I slipped it on and then climbed into bed, slowly undoing my braid. The ends of my hair were wet, but they’d dry. I curled up on my side, facing the door.
The warmth of the blankets lulled me to sleep, despite my racing thoughts. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before a deep laugh from outside jolted me from my slumber.
Casteel.
He was here, outside the bedchamber. Why? My mind immediately went in several directions. One of those flashed images of him and I all twisted together—
I jumped from the bed as if the mattress had caught fire, grabbing the knife.
He couldn’t be here to make sure I was still inside, not with Delano standing guard outside. Why was he here instead of his quarters when he had to be exhausted from the night’s events?
My heart stammered.
He must have his own bedchamber…right? I looked around, my heart thumping. This was his bedchamber.
At the sound of the grinding of the lock, I turned.
The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, damp air that ruffled the flames of the fireplace. And he…
Casteel prowled in as if he had every right to do so. He halted the moment he saw me and what I held, sighing heavily. Closing the door behind him, he was wise enough to not take his gaze off me.
“Poppy,” he started. “As you know, it’s been a long day and night. And while I’m relieved to see that you didn’t manage to evade Delano, and despite that I think you look rather adorable in that gown, holding that tiny, little knife—”
I threw the blade, aiming for his head just like he’d told me to do.
Stepping aside, Casteel snatched the weapon out of the air. I knew how fast he was, but it was still shocking to see how quick he could be. It stole my breath even as an infuriating voice whispered in the back of my mind that I had known he’d easily avoid the knife.
A curse hissed through his teeth as his fingers closed around the blade. Blood trickled between his fingers, and I didn’t feel even a kernel of guilt as he stared at his hand. Well, perhaps there was a tiny bit of remorse—no larger than the size of a gnat, though. He hadn’t done anything at the exact moment in time to truly earn a knife being thrown at his face, but I was sure he would be more than deserving in a few minutes.
Slowly, he opened his fingers, dropping the knife to the floor. The blood-soaked blade clanged off the wood. “That is the second time you’ve drawn blood tonight.” He looked over at me. A tense moment passed, and he then raised one dark brow. “You’re so incredibly violent.”
“Only around you,” I shot back.
His lips curled into a half-grin, revealing the dimple in his right cheek. “Now, you know that’s not true at all.” Walking toward the basin just inside the bathing chamber, he washed his hand. “But you know what is true?”
My jaw ached from how tightly I was clenching it as I told myself not to ask. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away. Highly unlikely, but one could always hope.
Casteel looked over his shoulder at me, waiting.
Frustration burned through me. “What?” I demanded. “What’s true?”
He smiled then, a real one. Both dimples were on full display, and they weren’t the only thing. No longer needing to hide what he was behind a tight-lipped smile, there was a hint of fangs. My breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t know if it was the fangs or the dimples. Or the genuine warmth in his smile—and I’d seen all his smiles to know which ones were real: The half-curl of his lips that said he was amused. The predatory one that reminded me of a large cat whose prey had made a foolish mistake. The cold curve to his mouth that never reached his eyes. The twist of a grin full of barely banked violence that was a promise of bloodshed. Those smiles may not have been directed at me, not even tonight when we squared off in the woods. But I’d seen them all.