His dark voice trails down her spine, lighting a path of desire that renders her breathless. "If only I were in a position of no consequence."
Alia's breath wavers when the pad of his thumb slowly glides across her bottom lip.
"Then I could give in...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"There would always be dishonourable things done to preserve the honour of any power." - Robin Hobb
•
Alia can't hear herself think.
Voices rumble around her, filling the tavern with a collective, unintelligible sound. Pressing fingertips to her temples doesn't help the growing headache, nor does massaging the area between her brows. Normally the energy of the tavern's patrons doesn't bother her. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Their liveliness usually makes her smile, comforted by the happiness they exude.
But today... Gods, she just wants them to shut the fuck up. She catches herself at the thought. No, she shouldn't be thinking such a thing. They can talk as loud as they please.
Sitting across from her, Valen seems to be completely unbothered by the noise. It doesn't surprise Alia, but it makes her feel isolated in her experience. Why does she have to have a headache now?
"You've stopped talking."
Alia presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, upset at her inability to think properly. "I'm sorry." She frowns, unable to remove her hands and look at Valen. "I've got a headache and I can't seem to get rid of it."
When he doesn't respond, Alia's brows furrow and she removes her hands from her eyes.
He's looking right at her. "Is the noise bothering you?" His journal is tucked away, presumably in one of his trouser pockets, and his arms are crossed.
She nods, cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze. For a while now, Alia has noticed that Valen's been holding his aura back from her. She doesn't care about the reason, but she knows it has to be because of their tutoring agreement. Over the past week, he's barely looked at her, always writing in one of his journals. But now, with his white eyes boring into her green ones, she's willing to tutor him forever.
When Valen looks away, Alia releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. He scans the tavern, the weight of his stare causing them to grow quiet. His attention locks on something behind her. She frowns, ready to turn around, but Valen's voice stops her.
"We will do the session elsewhere." He stands and pushes his chair in with — is his hand shaking? Alia frowns at his crossed arms but decides to follow his movements and get to her feet. He's still looking at something behind her, so she spares a curious glance over her shoulder.
The tavern has returned to its previous volume, but a group of young males seated around the table behind her have stayed silent. Their eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of surprise and fear.
Confused, Alia wonders why they've caught Valen's attention. She scans their faces, finding nothing of note until she looks at one of their hands. The male closest to her, and the only blonde in the group, has a small pocketknife in his right hand. Blood coats the blade's edge, and only now does the scent of iron slam into her senses. Her eyes dart to the arm he's holding, the arm of one of his friends. A deep, vertical slit spans across the inner forearm, bright red with blood dripping onto the male's thigh and the tavern floor.
