Page 65 of Ruin of Revenants

Until I realized his emerald gaze had me pinned, despite the shadows I’d concealed myself within. Like he’d never lost me in the party after all, but had carefully tracked my location this whole time. And he was making his way straight for me, his eyes searing until I thought they’d pierce straight to my soul.

Stomach clenching, I backed up in vain, smacking against the wall. The alcove was small, and it was too late to slip out and lose myself in the crowd now.

You thought I couldn’t feel your amusement from all the way over there? In mere moments, Archer was in front of me, glowering. Where is the knife, Feathers?

I bristled, my eyes instantly scanning the party behind him to ensure no one had overheard his low voice, before I remembered that he’d spoken only in my mind. No one was paying us any attention, anyway. “Stop calling me that.”

“It’s what you are.” My pulse rushed in my ears as the prince leaned forward, an arm on either side of me as he caged me in. “Now give me the knife, before I call you a thief next. Unless I need to search you for it?”

My laughter was strained, too high-pitched. “You wish.”

Archer pulled back, his lips twisting into a teasing smirk. “No, I think you wish. I saw the goosebumps on your arms when we danced.” His smile widened. You like it when I touch you.

I crossed my arms. “If that’s what you tell yourself to soothe your wounded pride.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” He smirked, that wicked gleam back in his eyes as he searched my expression. He thought he’d caught me, leaving me as pinned verbally as I was physically, unable to lie and unable to twist my way out of the words without it being obvious.

I lifted my chin, injecting my words with every ounce of venom I felt. “I hate you, Archer Emberglade.” I shoved him, hard, but all I encountered was a solid wall of muscle. He didn’t budge.

When I scowled, he only continued to grin. “Prove it. Show me I was imagining those goosebumps.” He cupped my face, tracing my cheek with his fingertip. His touch was warm and gentle—and an utter lie.

And yet, it reminded me of the night he’d drunkenly reached for me. How he’d almost kissed me. Had it only been because he’d wanted a distraction?

It had to have been why. I wouldn’t let myself consider anything else.

“Easily,” I declared, and I took his face in mine and smashed my lips to his. I didn’t pretend to be tender like he had. I kissed him like I was fighting him—which, I supposed, in a way, I was. It was a battle of wills, and I was confident I could win.

Archer responded swiftly, seizing my waist and pressing me into the wall as he stepped closer, eliminating any space between us. His fingers dug in, making the fabric of my dress feel far too thin, making me all too aware of the warmth of his body and the strength in his hands.

Angry that I’d noticed, I bit his lip, and he responded by tracing the seam of my mouth with his tongue, coaxing it open. He tasted of wine, heady and dangerous.

Panting, I dropped my hands and pulled away, and he released his own grip on me. When I met his gaze, there was a long, wild moment where we only stared at one another. His eyes appeared almost glassy and feverish, his cheeks slightly flushed, his golden hair shimmering like flame in our shadowed corner.

I feared I looked similarly disheveled, equally undone.

“See?” I snapped, lifting my arm to show that the skin there was entirely smooth. “Nothing.”

His chuckle was low, vibrating in my chest. Because you’re burning up, he accused.

I swallowed. I’m always burning with my hatred for you. Eager to turn the attention away from me, I demanded aloud: “Prove to me that you felt nothing.”

I expected him to pull up his shirtsleeves to show me his arms, not to lift my chin with his fingers and press his lips to mine again. And then he was cradling my face in his hands, holding me firmly yet more gently than I’d expected.

My hand found his arm. In my haze, I meant to shove it away, but instead, my traitorous fingers curled in the fabric of his shirtsleeve. Angry that I’d reacted at all, I kissed him back, hard.

He smirked against my lips and swallowed my whimper, kissing me as feverishly as before, as if we’d never stopped. My stomach was in my throat; my blood was pounding in my ears; my skin was aflame with sparks I feared I wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. His hands were in my hair, trailing down my spine, cradling my hips as he held me to him, his searing touches as clever as his lips.

My world was a blur of heated sensations and charged emotions. Mine. His. Anger. Hate. Desire. Longing. Disgust. Fear. I was alight with the thrill of his touch and the delight of appalling him. But I was just as abhorred by myself and this terrifying feeling building inside me, one of wanting something that didn’t make sense.

When he finally pulled back, Archer’s lips were smeared with my lip stain, but he wore a triumphant grin. I followed his gaze, mortified to see embers floating in the air around us.

“I told you that you’re burning up. You’re positively on fire for me, Feathers.”

“And I told you I hate you. That’s all that matters.” I shoved him away, and as before, he resisted. “You mock my kind, rejoice in our deaths, and you would love to see me suffer. If I wasn’t useful to you, you’d cheer as I was executed.”

Archer’s eyes shuttered.

Just as swiftly, the fight left me. I was exhausted, terrified that I’d lose control and be found out in a crowd of people who despised me, and I was bewildered by my reaction to this smug prince’s kiss.