Thread of Frost

Ch. 39: Storm Break

"Kiss me," Ryne said.

His voice was silky. Ryne leaned forward on the window bench, his legs falling open; dust motes haloed his dark hair. His green eyes were soft spring stems. He looked like a painting, Anna thought, half-sprung from some artist's imagination. A low pulse started in her stomach, spreading out through her chest.

Ryne held out a hand. "You want to make me happy, don't you?"

She licked her lips. His silver rings glittered in the light.

"Come here," Ryne said.

Anna took a halting step forward. She felt like a puppet on golden strings. She tried to raise her hand — to touch his fingers — but her body wouldn't listen. A thought niggled at the back of her brain.

Ryne's face hardened. "I said come."

She jerked forward.

They collided in a tangle of limbs. Anna raised her hands to his face, but Ryne pinned her wrists to her sides. His green eyes were steady. Something gold flashed, followed by the horrible sensation of waking. Anna blinked. Blinked again.

She jerked her hands back. Ryne let her go.

"That was better," Ryne said.

Anna's chest tightened. "I couldn't resist you."

"Well," Ryne said wryly, "I get that from a lot of women." He clasped his hands. "You knew something was wrong. You hesitated."

A lump lodged in her throat. "I should have improved by now."

"You have."

"I should have improved more," Anna said.

A surge of frustration filled her. She kicked a tasseled footstool, sending it scuttering across the room. They both watched as the footstool smashed into a wooden table and sent papers flying in all directions. Ryne leaned back.

"You're tired," Ryne said. "And you're not at your full strength these days."

Anna crossed her arms. She would have stomped her foot too, but she'd already kicked a footstool, and there was only so much that a grown woman could get away with. "Althea gave me another healing draught."

Ryne gave her a long look. "That's like putting a bandage on a severed arm." He held out a hand. "Come here."

Anna squinted. "Are you using magic?"

A smile ghosted Ryne's mouth. "No. That's just me."

Cautiously, Anna moved closer. She could feel the comforting weight of a knife strapped to her thigh. She wondered if there was a day where she would move instinctively to Ryne, where she wouldn't think to check for a weapon first.

Probably not.

She stopped in the space between his knees. "Is this the part where you tell me everything's going to be okay?"

"Do you want me to?" Ryne asked.

"I've never been a fan of lies."

"Funny," Ryne murmured. "I would have said differently, little thief."

His warm breath tickled her neck. They weren't touching, but Anna was very aware of the space between them. His green eyes were growing darker, black shadows seeping through bottled ink. She half-closed her eyes. It had been five days, Anna realized, since that night in Ryne's bedroom; they hadn't yet discussed it.

Perhaps now was the time.

She drew a breath. "Delafort, I—"

The door burst open.