Ashla was quite unsure about that. Her heartbeat raced in response to the way he held and stroked her. Every touch was both completely innocent and outrageously provocative. Perhaps it was the tone of his deep voice as it caressed her skin, or the way he seemed to breathe deep of her, but Ashla was also quite aware that there was so much more to it than that. She had felt it when she had covered his body in her touch to heal him. She felt it even more now that she was locked against him under his power. Her body instantly responded, a flush of awareness congregating with long-denied hungers inside her. She blushed with dreadful embarrassment when her nipples hardened into prodding points against the arm that still held her close.
“Tell me why you ran away from me before,” he suddenly asked, his coaxing query sounding half distracted. Ashla didn’t realize that Trace’s attention had been snared by the reaction of her body, and that it had made him realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra, merely a chemise, the lace of which was quite obvious beneath the scant material of her dress. All it would take was the lifting of his thumb to prepare her for his teasing stroke of touch. Trace was floored by the power of his yearning to do just that. How in all that was Light had this gone from seeking her out to thank her to becoming an exercise in sensual temptation?
More importantly, how was it that he of all people would be feeling this way? For years he had held on to such bitter memories that he could barely stand to touch or be touched by a woman. And now…
He shook his head in denial. How could any Shadowdweller even feel in such a way toward a human?
Half a human.
If that.
Trace let go of her suddenly, stepping away from her as she stumbled in her sudden, unexpected freedom. Ashla turned around slowly and he could see the shaking of her hands as she ran one through her short, soft hair. She didn’t realize that Trace had lost track of his own question as he tried to plow some kind of order to his jumbled thoughts. So she caught him off guard when she answered.
“Because you…you shunned me.”
Why did you shun me?
I never shunned you!
The haunted whispers of a half-realized memory swirled through Trace’s brain, even as he responded with knee-jerk indignation. “I did nothing of the kind!”
“You did! You said ‘what are you?’ like…like I was some sort of…of demon!”
“Because I thought you were…”
He trailed off before he could tell her he had actually thought that very thing. Not a demon, but a Demon, a Nightwalker race of elementals with great powers. But he had certainly never thought of her as the human incarnation of “demon,” some twisted beast damned and deceptive. Trace was actually insulted by the idea she would think him capable of such a disparagement, forgetting she had no way of knowing otherwise about him.
“Look,” he said irritably, “I have seen things a lot stranger than you, little mouse. Some human girl who can heal may be unique, but certainly not strange enough to make me forget how to treat someone with decency!”
“Then why did you ask it like that? And—” Ashla stopped short, jerking her head and shoulders into a tight sort of attention as her pale, pretty eyes narrowed on him suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘some human girl?’ What other kinds of girls are there?”
Oh, Light and damnation, Trace thought with an inner groan at his own massive stupidity. How could he have made such a mistake? Then again, how often did he ever speak with humans in the first place? It wasn’t as though he was well practiced in guarding the uses of his language outside of the Shadowdweller society.
“Please,” he said, his tone lowering to a coaxing level. “I feel as though we have misunderstood each other from the start, and all I want to do is fix that so I can thank you for what you did.”
“You want to thank me?” she asked, her suspicion seeming to deepen. “No questions? No curiosity? You don’t find me strange, so it begs the question what have you seen that you do classify as strange.”
That was when Trace realized that for all her bundles of fear, little blond Ashla was ounce for ounce as sharp as others might be brave. What she lacked in courage, she clearly made up for in intellect. He had underestimated her in that respect, and now would have to either pull off some dazzling damage control, or…
Lie.
Trace was quite good at telling creative truths. He was even better at flat-out lying. He had to be. Not a single ruling body on the planet that he knew of could function on a completely open and fully honest governing style. Secrets were a necessary evil, especially when it protected vital information and key negotiations between touchy cultures; especially when the telling of truths would leave opportunity for enemies to plunge their daggers into the hearts of the monarchy.
Yet now that he was faced with upholding one of the more crucial lies his people perpetuated, the one that secured their anonymity as a race in order to protect them from hers, his tongue seemed to freeze against it. He found himself trapped in a pair of fair blue eyes the likes of which amazed him, the lightness of them completely mesmerizing. What was more, he couldn’t escape the feeling that she had had more than her share of liars and betrayers in her life. Trace shook his head, trying to tell himself that he was applying his own impressions onto her without a single shred of proof, but it didn’t sway the overwhelming cry of his instincts. How could he force himself to ignore them when he was so used to living by them?
Ashla saw him hesitate, however, and her face wrinkled with distress and pain. She was so ready to think the worst of him, and probably anyone else as well. It amazed him that so young a woman could be so jaded. He wasn’t an expert at judging human age, but he estimated she was not yet out of her third decade. If she’d had the longevity of a Shadowdweller to look forward to, she would have the time to grow out of this bitter stage while still in her youth. She would learn how truly vast life could be, and how insignificant some things became in the face of it.
“Don’t bother saying anything if you’re going to lie,” she said heavily, shaking her head as she turned away from him.
“I’m not going to lie,” he said sharply, grabbing her arm and turning her back to him.
“But you thought about it,” she accused as she stumbled awkwardly in his hands. She gave a strange little hop before daring him to deny it with the glare of those uncanny eyes.
“Yes. I thought about it,” he admitted with a stiff nod. It burned him to confess it to her, and the unfamiliar guilt of it sat very ill on him. He was completely baffled as to why this would be so damn hard for him, but without a solution he had no choice but to be as honest as he could. “Look, there are things I just can’t talk about…”
“Is one of them the fact that you’ve talked about thrones and traitors when there are very few monarchies left in this world? Very few of anything, for that matter,” she added, gesturing to indicate the dark world around them.
This was when Trace caught the first sight of bright and dark reds streaking her palms. Far too familiar with the look of it, Trace plucked one of her hands out of the air, pulling her forward with a hasty jerking motion that was far rougher than he had intended.
Ashla gasped and squeaked out a startled sound of protest when the dark male so suddenly manhandled her, bringing her with a harsh tug against his chest as he pinned her to him at the back of her waist with one hand and drew her hand to his face with the other. She could swear she almost felt him shuddering with some tightly contained emotion, but his expression was grim and shadowed in the darkness. She felt his heated breath on her palm, the flow of it rushing over the tender cuts and deeper gashes that were there.
His deeply black eyes glittered as they turned to hers, and she got the thorough feeling that he was furious with her for something. She found that rather rich, considering he was the one with a lot of explaining to do after admitting he was more inclined than not to being dishonest with her.