Page 51 of Ashen Torment
“What on earth are you do—”
“Do not raise your voice, Viscount.” He leans down slightly, so close I can feel the heat of his breath graze my ear. Then, he steps back, leaving a small space between us.
I remain motionless for a moment, my gaze wandering the room; the oblivious guests, the shimmer of the crystals that seems to amplify my turmoil. I breathe in, regaining control of my body and my hands.
“You are a madman.”
He tilts his head slightly, his arrogant eyes brushing mine.
“You asked me to.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the lock that had fallen earlier.
“You are inclined toward submission, I see.”
“You should choose your words carefully, Viscount.”
My gaze falls to his hands. Pronounced dark veins run along his long fingers, large knuckles hands marked but harmonious.
Hands that have shaped and guided bodies.
I feel my throat go dry.
“I wonder,” he whispers, “what thought crosses your mind as you look at my hands.”
“You are excessively curious.”
“Do you not wish to satisfy my curiosity, then?”
I stare at his fingers for an instant, then look away. “That I could break them, if I wished.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Always so composed and measured, and yet, sometimes I sense such violence in you, such brutality. Is it perhaps I who brings out such reactions?”
“You provoke no effect on me whatsoever.”
“None?” he hums. “I don’t believe you.”
A voice behind me interrupts us.
“So, you’ve arrived at last, Viscount.”
I turn. Julian joins us.
“Many were waiting for you...” His gaze settles on me. “...very many.”
“I see.”
“Very many?” Lord Dorian asks.
Julian lifts the glass he holds between his white-gloved fingers.
“The Viscount is held in great regard, he rarely grants us his presence.”
He moves half a step closer.
“You have delightful hands,” he observes. “You shouldn’t keep them all to yourself. Don’t you think, Lord Vasiliev Ashford?”
Lord Dorian’s glass hits the marble ledge with a sharp thud. He tightens his lips and pins his eyes on my face.
