Page 41 of A Kiss of Flame

Levian chuckled, but the sweet sound didn’t ease his guilt. “Shocking,” she teased, poking his shoulder with a finger.

He grunted. “It’s not funny,” he told her, his heart heavy. “I feel like a right arse for it.”

The mage let out a soft breath through her nose and touched his arm gently. “Barith, don’t be so hard on yourself,” she told him, her tone light with empathy. He turned to peer over at her, his throat burning with raw emotions. “It’s a lot of pressure on both of you,” she continued. “I know it wasn’t the love match you always dreamed about, but give it time. I’m sure you’ll both figure it out.”

Barith nodded as his heart continued to ache. He was tired of feeling like a failure to his horde and himself. He was tired of feeling guilty. He hated that the only way he knew to make up for them was to mate with a dragon that deserved more than his disinterest. He hated that he felt he couldn’t be honest with anyone about his feelings. About what he feared.

He appreciated Levian’s encouragement but wasn’t sure he would figure it out. Barith had always wanted to find his true mate. He still did, even if it was a silly, childish thing to hope for. He wanted to be with a woman who set fire to his blood and drove him mad with desire. The one person he could give the whole of his heart. He had always hoped to find her, but time was up, and Barith felt the weight of his failure. Sera, his chosen mate, was a fine dragon and was not bothered by their lack of chemistry. It had made him even less attracted to her. She had no passion or desire to separate herself from her horde and see what else the world had to offer. She was merely fulfilling her duty to her uncle and her own horde, as was tradition.

“I will miss this,” Levian told him, stifling a soft yawn as she reached over and took up the bottle to refill their mugs.

As she did, Barith watched her every move, and the tension in him slowly built. They’d not discussed her arrangement with the Eldreth or that his time was growing short before he’d have to return to the horde. They hadn’t talked about the kiss either.

His heart thrummed like a rabbit’s foot at the memory of her slick body pressed against his. Of the way her lips tasted sweet and decadent. With a strong gulp of scotch, he tried to push the memory away. Another filled its place. One of Levian standing at one of Ember Hall’s windows earlier that year as he’d taken off into the sky to return home and meet his mate. It was the last he’d seen of her before he’d burst out of the suffocating enchanted wall.

It was strange how one’s life could feel the same for so long to one day change completely. In the world of immortals, that always seemed to be the way. Long stretches that blurred together—fractured by moments that shook them to their foundations.

“Aye,” Barith replied, his voice graveled with emotion. “I will miss it too.”

Levian reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, stroking it affectionately with her thumb. He reached up, put his hand over hers, and squeezed. His entire body began to feel heavy with the weight of everything. The mage’s gaze drifted to the fire, lost in thought, and the pang in his heart grew sharper. More painful.

He knew he should leave it, but before he could stop himself, Barith sat up from the couch, resting his mug on the table. “What happened back at Kamár,” he began. “I’m?—”

Levian bristled. “Which part?” she clipped, being purposefully obtuse.

"Ye know which part," he said, turning his face just enough to look at her. Barith felt guilty and wanted Levian to know he hadn’t meant to push it so far. He’d misunderstood and had gotten caught up in the moment, but he remembered vividly how she’d recoiled from him, which made his insides churn with guilt.

Levian immediately looked away from him, reaching instinctively for one of her necklaces to fiddle. "We were playing the part," she offered flatly. "And got caught up in our bet, that's all. There’s nothing to discuss. Plus, it’s not as if we haven't gotten caught up in such a moment before."

Barith felt a shock riot up from his toes to his scalp as memories flooded. The moonlight cast over Levian, her caramel skin, sweet lips, and wild dark hair. It was an evening long pastthat Barith would never forget, and it irritated him that she would compare that night to what had happened back in Kamár.

"That was a bit different," he reminded her, his voice graveled.

Levian glanced up to find Barith still watching her. He seemed irritated or offended, or possibly both. Her cheeks heated as she looked at the fire. It was unlike her to be so on edge, and it annoyed her that she’d gotten so tense so quickly.

She fidgeted with her necklace. "I don't see how," she retorted, sounding peevish even to her ears.

Barith grunted. “It was Beltane, for one,” he reminded her—based on his tone, he was definitely both irritated and offended—“we’d both been jilted by our lovers, and I’d been running through the forest chasing a wood nymph, I thought had slipped into the brush."

Levian’s gaze snapped to him, and her back stiffened. "What?" she hissed. She hadn't known he'd been chasing a nymph!

He smirked at her visceral reaction. "I was more pleased to have found you," he admitted, his voice lightening. "Though I hadn't expected you to be as pleased to find me."

Her blush deepened, and she looked away from him. "Well, as you said," she replied sorely, “it was Beltane, and I was a bit miffed at being abandoned."

Actually, she barely remembered the half-fae she'd brought with her to the celebration. Abigail had thrown one of her extravagant parties for Beltane at her old palatial estate in the French countryside. She and Barith attended as they often did when they weren't off working or getting into some othertrouble during the holiday. They'd both brought dates they’d immediately lost to the festivity. Levian hadn't minded so much. She'd occupied herself with drink, food, and dancing, assuming she'd find someone to replace her companion with by the night’s end if she desired. When she'd wandered into the woods, past couples making love in the shadows of the moon, she'd let the heat of the night and the sensuality of the others seep into her skin. When she'd heard rustling in the brush, she'd had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that whoever emerged would be her destined lover for the evening. She had not expected in her wildest dreams that it would be Barith.

He emerged breathless, his eyes intense and dark. It was odd to recall now. She hadn’t wondered what he was doing in the woods or where his partner was. All she knew was that he was there, and their desire was palpable. From the moment their eyes met, they both knew what would happen next.

They didn't speak. Barith filled the gap between them, and she'd looked up into his face—her belly full of butterflies and anticipation. He'd reached up and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers before running his thumb over her lips. It had been a luxurious touch. Soft and tender. Slow and intimate. It hadn't been entirely fueled by lust but a desire to savor.

She would never forget that kiss. He'd cupped her cheeks between his giant palms as he'd leaned down to brush his nose against hers. She'd waited patiently, letting the tension between them swell. Then he'd brushed her lips softly with his own, much like he had back in Kamár. That's when she'd touched him, pressing her hands against his chest, leaning in closer until their lips finally met fully. It’d felt like time had stopped. They’d hauled in a deep breath, filling their lungs with the night air and each other.

It'd been a glorious evening and the best Beltane she'd ever had. Not that she'd ever told Barith that. Not that they'd everspoken about it since she'd slipped back toward the dancing, leaving the dragon softly snoring and sated, naked in the grass.

She looked up and found Barith still watching her, though his gaze seemed hazy with the same memories she'd just been lost in. Levian's heart thumped in her chest, and her skin grew hot from the memory.

"It turned into a rather fine evening,” he said affectionately. "I only wish we had gotten a chance to dance."