Page 26 of The Blood Rites

His grip tightens slightly around my arms, not enough to hurt me, but enough to make me aware of exactly how easily he could.

For a moment he says nothing. His gaze moves over my face with slow, unsettling focus, as though he’s trying to place something he recognises but doesn’t yet understand.

The corner of his mouth lifts faintly.

“Those manners are going to get you killed,” he says. His voice is low and rough around the edges, carrying the same dangerous calm as the rest of him. “Or at least maimed. Maybe I’ll do it myself just to speed things along.”

Despite the words, there’s something almost amused beneath them. I should pull away.

Instead, I realise, with mounting horror, that I’m staring at him again.

Not openly this time, but I notice smaller things: the dark fabric stretched across broad shoulders, the shape of his hands where they still rest against my arms.

The scent of sweat and clean clothing hits me all at once.

I force myself to step backwards.

“Sorry,” I say again, and immediately hate how weak it sounds.

His expression sharpens with something dangerously close to amusement.

“I’ve heard the Lightborn are fragile,” he says. “But this is something else entirely.”

His eyes flick briefly over my face again, assessing. “You apologise too quickly.”

“Would you prefer I insulted you instead?”

“I’d prefer that you lie,” he replies smoothly. “Or at least pretend. It would make you seem slightly harder to kill.”

I should be offended. Instead, absurdly, part of me wants to laugh.

He releases my arms and moves to step past me but pauses halfway. Before I fully realise what he’s doing, his hand slips neatly into my pocket and removes the folded parchment.

I stare at him in disbelief. “That’s mine.”

“Mhm.”

He unfolds it lazily and scans the list of names. I move instinctively to snatch it back, but the moment our fingers brush, something sharp jolts violently up my arm.

I freeze and he stills too.

Not for long—barely a heartbeat. But long enough that I know he felt it too.

His eyes lift slowly back to mine, the air between us suddenly feeling too tight.

Just as quickly, the moment passes. He folds the parchment again and presses it back into my chest.

“Which one are you?” he asks casually. “Luceris, Callen or Marissa?”

“Luceris.” The name catches awkwardly in my throat.

“And you are...”

“Guess,” he says, amused.

“Kael?” I venture.

Something unreadable flickers briefly across his face. Then it’s gone. “That obvious?”