A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(19)

“You’ll understand when you meet her.”

That’ll never happen. I’ll escape soon. I have to.

“That was more than just a nightmare. Who hurt you?” Flynn asks. He sounds angry, and his genuine concern leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

I press my lips together and stare up at the night sky. I have a better question. Why haven’t I had my daily dose of nightmares since Beta Sinta abducted me? That is, until tonight?

*

The next morning, Beta Sinta still hasn’t returned. No one seems particularly worried, and they don’t break camp. I grit my teeth and hint that I might want a bath. Even Poseidon is telling me I stink.

Carver grins. “So how does this work?”

“How do you think? We both turn invisible. The rest is pretty much self-explanatory.”

Chuckling at my crankiness, he wiggles his eyebrows at Kato and Flynn, who joke about wanting their turn at an invisible swim. I roll my eyes and make a rude hand gesture. Then we disappear before they can retaliate.

On the bank, I strip and grab my soap. “You ready?”

“Naked as the day I was born,” Carver answers, sounding far too proud.

I tug on the rope and lead him into the stream. The pool on the east bank is perfect, four feet deep with a sandy bottom and a light current.

“Too bad I can’t see you,” Carver says.

“What?” I feel my cheeks heat. “Why?”

“That would be more fun,” he answers matter-of-factly.

I can’t help laughing. “Splash.”

“What for?”

“So I know where you are.”

The water sloshes about three feet from me, and I hurl the soap at him. Carver lets out a satisfying grunt.

“Don’t flirt with me.”

“Why not?” He sounds completely innocent. The rascal.

“Because I’ll kill you.”

“You could try,” he says, imitating his brother’s deeper voice.

I snort, smothering another laugh. “Is that the new royal family’s motto? Very plebeian. Perfect for your lot.”

“What’s wrong with plebeian?” Carver asks. “I’d rather be us than them.”

He means Magoi nobles and royals. “So would I,” I answer truthfully.

I dive under and blow bubbles. Carver must see them because he hits me with a huge splash when I come up. Sputtering, I splash him back, or at least I think I do. Sometime in the middle of a full-on water fight, I realize I’m having fun. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but I can’t help it, and being strapped to Carver is so much better than being attached to Beta Sinta. That’s all weirdness and tension.

“You win!” Carver cries, a shiver in his voice. “I’m turning blue.”

“How do you know? You’re invisible.”

“I can feel it. Trust me.”

Trust you? Not likely. “You southerners are so fainthearted.”

Water droplets appear out of nowhere, splattering all around me.

“Shake your hair over there!” I yell, flicking water back.

He must jump away because the rope snaps taut, yanks me, and I face-plant into the stream. I right myself, cursing colorfully between coughs.

Carver laughs. “I’m surprised Griffin hasn’t drowned you yet. I keep forgetting you’re attached.”

I think back over the last few days as we climb the bank. Beta Sinta is surprisingly conscious of the rope, almost never jerking me around.

Frowning, I gather my hair and start wringing the water from it. “I need a drying cloth. And more soap.”

“Ask Griffin,” Carver says.

I huff. “Forget it.” I finger-comb my tangled curls, air-drying the rest of me before dressing. I leave my feet bare. “You ready?”

“I’m always ready.”

I let go of our invisibility, and Carver is still completely naked, his clothes clutched in one hand.

“That’s not ready!” I cry, slapping my hand over my eyes. “You’re an idiot!”

“But an impressive idiot.”

“No!” I screech. “Oh Gods! Now I have to replace my eyeballs!”

He laughs, his clothes rustling. “You asked if I was ready, not if I was dressed, but it’s safe now.”

“I don’t believe you.” I keep my hand where it is even though I’m tempted to split my fingers and take a peek.

“Then walk blind.” Carver moves forward, the rope pulling me along.

A moment later, I take my hand down and walk straight into Beta Sinta, bouncing off his formidable frame. He grabs my arms to steady me, lifting a little at the same time. I end up on my toes, tipping into him, my hands flat against his chest.

Startled, I tilt my head back and find him looking down at me, his thundercloud eyes shaded by thick, dark lashes. His eyes flare a heated silver, something shockingly possessive roaring to life in his hooded gaze.

Heat sizzles through me, coiling deep in my belly. My lips part on a silent gasp, and his eyes drop to my mouth. Stark hunger hardens his striking features, and an unexpected thrill skims down my spine. The low sound that rumbles out of him is raw, primal, and utterly male. He looks ready to slam his mouth down on mine.

Instinctively, my eyes lock on his mouth. He has the kind of generous lips that look like they would be hard and soft at the same time, that would demand and coax, and set nerves on fire and melt resolve.