Private Tales Poisoned Words For the Heart

[Imogen Celreos]

Gods, even the way he was looking at her made her blood heat, and the graze of his fingers against hers had sparked a fresh flame.

“Nor am I…” she murmured, watching him over the rim of her glass as he tipped his head back, column of his throat bared - a perfect target, and yet the last thing she wanted was to harm him. Not when every instinct screamed at her to reach for him instead.

He spoke of physical activity, and her lips curved despite herself. Yes, that’s what’s on my mind too.

“I wouldn’t be afraid of injuring you,” she said at last, a quiet challenge threading through her tone. “Though sadly, I am on a very tight leash, and I doubt it extends to sparring with my betrothed’s most terrible cousin.”

Her mouth quirked faintly, but the smile in her eyes softened as they fell to the glass in her hand. The amber liquor caught the lamplight as she swirled it absently, trying to keep her heart from climbing out of her chest. His words echoed in her ears, left her cheeks warm.

“You shouldn’t say things like that…” she said softly, her reprimand barely more than a whisper as she flicked her gaze back up to him, only to feel that sting at the corners of her eyes.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to look away, but she didn’t.

“I don’t want to marry him, Grey,” she admitted, barely above a whisper now. “This isn’t my choice… But it’s what I have to do.”

 

[Greydon]

To his credit, Greydon kept himself from smiling. Instead, he arched a brow and his head tilted to the side. "Can't say many women do once they realise what kind of man he is."

Eira had won everyone's heart, Thanasis and the Thunder, for her intelligent plots and schemes, all of which benefited not just herself. She knew what kept people interested, what they were invested in, and how to support them in those endeavours in exchange for a favour. She had the charm and charisma that would have made House Malennis continue to live out the legacy her father, and his father before him, had built.

"Ilir... had to live in the shadows of his own House. His own father's brother could not put himself on the Lord's seat, nor any of his children. None of them bore Moon Dragon bonds." Greydon ran a finger over the rim of his glass, catching the lone droplet of his drink and wiping it onto his lip. A slow trace of his tongue followed. "Ilir forced his bond, made a trade with a half bred moon dragon. No matter what make up his dragon has, it has no true bond to Ilir."

It tolerated the man. Greydon had observed the duo many times now, and could see there was a disconnect between them.

His eyes flicked up to meet Imogen's, a stare unwavering as his lips quirked with amusement. "If you want to piss off your groom to be, we can always spar. Only if you promise to actually hurt me."

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Imogen stared down into her glass, the amber liquid catching the light as her thoughts turned cold. “Yes…” she said quietly.. “I know what kind of man he is.”

Each time Ilir’s hands had been on her, his touch had been a cold, cruel thing that made her skin crawl. A reminder of the bars around her life.

Greydon’s hands, though… those had branded her in an entirely different way.

Her brow arched as he spoke of the forced bond, surprise flickering across her features. She hadn’t thought that was even possible. “Well,” she said after a beat, her tone dry, “as we learned with the girl who bonded the Sahar dragon…” She did not flinch at the memory of Lord Sahar’s blood on her hands. “Bonds can be broken.” She shrugged, though there was a sharpness to it. “Apparently she won the creature by simply being kinder to it than its rider was.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his, emerald eyes glinting as a short, dry laugh escaped her. “Oh, I would hurt you,” she assured him, the corner of her mouth twitching with the faintest smirk.

But then her expression sobered, her head shaking as she tipped back the last of her drink. “I fear I have pissed him off enough…” she admitted, setting the glass down with a quiet click. “And he is likely to be arriving here soon.”

The warning was pointed, but her voice was softer now. A part of her wanted him to leave. A bigger part wanted him to stay. But here, around her, in her home, his life was in more danger than he realised.

 

[Greydon]

Something about the way she rose to say that she would hurt him made Greydon smirk. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and let his hands dangle there in the space between. "Oh, darling, I would love to see you make good on that." His eyes bore into her's, challenge held in his gaze.

"Fuck Ilir. Your door is locked..."

No. He shouldn't encourage this, but Greydon was sick and tired of Ilir getting things without working hard for it. His Lord and cousin did not care for much else, and by the fucking gods, Grey wanted to feel that gown she wore now bundled up in his hand.

"Your move, Celreos. Kick me out, or come here and pour me another drink."

 

[Imogen Celreos]

How many men in her life had, much to their later regret, called her things like darling or sweetheart? Quite a few. And never, not once, had she ever felt herself swoon. Never had her cheeks betrayed her like this, pale skin warming under the weight of the word as though he’d just lit a match and dropped it onto kindling.

Fuck Ilir…

Gods, her pulse was quickening, thrumming in her ears. What the hell was happening to her?

Her door was locked, yes, but his words lingered in the air, a provocation she couldn’t quite ignore. His challenge was met with the arch of a slender brow, and something slow, dangerous, and amused curled on her lips.

Imogen rose with deliberate grace, taking her time crossing back to the decanter. She poured herself another drink first, taking a slow sip without looking at him, letting him wait. Only then did she pour another measure into another glass, not bringing it to him, but setting it down on the table in front of her with a soft clink.

“You have two hands, Tomyris..” she said lightly, swirling her own glass before sinking back into her chair. “If you want a drink, you’ll have to come and get it yourself.”

Her verdant eyes glinted as she took another sip, never breaking their locked stare. She hadn’t kicked him out, and the air between them felt suddenly, dangerously charged.

 

[Greydon]

He was a man of action, setting aside his glass to the space beside him. It was empty, and he was in need of a refill, but the temptress before him posed a new challenge to him. Greydon lowered himself to his knees, whereas she moved with languid grace, he moved with a predator's precision. His two hands found the plush rug, his injured leg protesting lightly, but not hindering him as he crawled to her.

She was his reigning Lady. Every one else should bow before her. He was lower, even with the bloodlines running through him, Greydon could never measure up beside her.

He wanted to be trouble. Wanted to see her come undone by his loving hands.

Greydon kneeled before her, placing his two hands either side of her. He leaned in, smirking up at her. "I have other ideas for these hands..." Came his husky murmur. "I am very fascinated by this... silk..."

Should she refuse him, he only used one hand to pinch her dressing gown between thumb and forefinger. Rubbed the silk, pulling at the fabric until a glimpse of her leg was bared to him. Fuck. He truly wanted this death wish, but he also knew his cousin. Ilir would not go out of his way to see her if she did not want to join anyone for dinner. Not until they married.

And knowing the plots that he knew, there was a chance Imogen would not become Ilir's Lady Malennis.

So... he could afford to indulge.

His lips found the side of her knee, and a gentle, lingering kiss was placed there. A promise. Lust raged in his eyes as he looked up at her. It mixed with every other emotion and feeling he had for her.

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Her eyes never left him as he crawled to her, her face a picture of calm composure and subtle amusement, but her mind and heart were anything but calm.

She should tell him to go. She really, really should.

And yet… every inch of her skin prickled alive under the weight of his gaze.

Her fingers tightened around her glass before she swallowed another gulp, the whisky burning down her throat, steadying her as she tilted her head ever so slightly at him. Watching him study her like that made her pulse quicken.

She should stop him. She really.. really should.

But then his lips found her knee, and all reason left her. Her breath caught, her throat working as her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, just long enough to let herself feel the heat of his mouth on her skin. Each breath she took was deep, her chest rising and falling in time with the pounding of her heart.

“This is dangerous, Grey…” she whispered, her voice low, roughened with a mix of warning and invitation.

Her leg shifted, just slightly, and the silk slid higher up her thigh, an unconscious invitation, an unspoken dare. Her lips curved in a ghost of a smile as she looked down at him, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper now, “just how much trouble are you hoping to be, exactly?”

 

[Greydon]

Greydon was ablaze, roaring with the accelerant she poured all over him. His answering grin was all forms of mischief and lust. She didn't stop him, she dared him to continue. Who was he to refuse a Lady of such?

He could see her eyes flick to his lips, and Greydon made sure she watched his tongue run across them. His other hand now came to rest at her waist, the other abandoning the silk and wrapping around her ankle. Steadily, he held her, let her watch as he trailed slow and deliberate kisses up the path of shown flesh. The bared slit of silk only gave him enough that his lips stopped in the middle of her thigh, and there, leaned in closely, Greydon looked up at Imogen.

"Good fuckings gods..." he beheld her with such reverence, Greydon wondered what he would sacrifice at her alter. Himself. All of him. She deserved total devotion. "My thoughts are becoming depraved. I'm starved, Imogen. If I start, I don't think I will be able to stop..." If she was worried about noise, he would lock them both in her closet. If she wanted to lay down and let him feast, he would spread her here on this rug.

"But I can't do none of this without your word, my Lady." He tempted her, lifting her leg and hoisting it over his shoulder. Grey dared not to look down, instead putting his eyes and attention to her knee hooked over him. There, he pressed soft brushed kisses that felt better than the silks she wore.

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Her breaths grew shallow, tight, each one dragging through her chest as though she’d run for miles. Her pulse pounded in her throat and between her ribs, loud enough she was certain he could hear it. She could not take her eyes off of him, the sight of Greydon Tomyris, the face she’d thought of every day, kneeling at her feet, his mouth hot on her thigh, his hands steady as they held her in place.

Gods, she should tell him to stop. She should.

But she didn’t.

Every ounce of her composure felt stretched thin, and still she dared him to go on. She wanted to see how far this would go, to see how far she would go.

Her word?

She was not accustomed to breaking promises, and she had promised herself to another, however unwillingly. But she had already sinned, had already had his hands and mouth on her..

Wouldn’t it be all right, just once, to choose something for herself, before she entered into a life of misery?

The thought made her head swim, and as his lips pressed soft kisses to the knee hooked over his shoulder, she let out a shuddering breath. Slowly, oh so slowly, her fingers tugged at the knotted belt of her nightdress. The sound of it sliding loose was deafening in the quiet room. The silk whispered over her skin as it parted, baring her to him in answer.

Her leg stayed where he had placed it, her body taut with the invitation, her gaze molten as she finally whispered:

“Then don’t stop.”

A dangerous little smile curved her lips as she tilted her chin up, daring him now more openly, more boldly than ever before. “Show me how much trouble you really are, Tomyris.”

 

[Greydon]

Good and gracious gods.

She was an invitation he longed for, and as she loosened the hold of silks to her body, Greydon could not help himself. There was a shifting south of his lower abdomen, a heat and need growing rapidly in his pit. Hunger lingered in his eyes, and the feast before him was open only to him to dine alone.

"Fucking hells..." He groaned. Stilling, his closed his eyes and took a deep inhale. His hands moved, one keeping her leg aloft over his shoulder, and the other running down the lifted leg. Greydon opened his eyes, staring at her.

He wanted to watch her pretty face, see her react to his touches. The hand slid from knee and down her thigh, fingers trailing a treacherous path. They paused.

"Hmm... I don't know if we should risk you making any sound." For he knew she would. What he had planned for her, he wanted to hear her. "Unless you promise to keep as quiet as you can?"

A fool's promise. He ought to take her to another room within her quarters. "Or shall we tempt fate that no one will hear?"

 

[Imogen Celreos]

Imogen sipped from her glass slowly, buying herself one more precious second of composure, though her pulse throbbed hot in her ears. Her lips curved into a languid smirk as she watched him squirm before her, and gods, she liked seeing him undone like this. She needed more of that. Her teeth caught her lower lip when his hand slid over her skin, and when he paused she felt that brief, delicious sting of denial that had her chest rising and falling faster.

Her laughter broke the tension, soft but wicked, her head tilting just slightly as though she were considering his offer with all the weight of a queen entertaining a petition.

“So confident,” she murmured, her voice smoky, “that you have the talent required to make me lose my self-control…”

Her fingers toyed lazily with the edge of her gaping nightdress, deliberately drawing his eyes where she wanted them, letting him see just how easily she could choose to close it again. Instead, she let the silk slip a little more off her shoulder.

“Perhaps,” she went on, slow and daring, “you can test that theory right here.”

Her grin widened, predatory and amused all at once. “But I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” she whispered. “If I scream, Grey, it will be your fault.”

And gods help him, there was a dare in her voice, one that said she almost wanted to tempt fate. One that said she didn't give a single fuck who heard her.