Peregrine’s grip tightened instinctively around her. Bianca felt it.
Perhaps there really was another Rogue. That must have been why he had drawn his sword. She opened her eyes a sliver and looked in the direction of his gaze. And there, half-hidden behind the trees, was...
Julian Pembroke.
Is he waiting to see whether I’m dead or not?
"I thought he ran away..." Bianca muttered.
Peregrine looked down at her. Bianca blinked up at him and puffed her cheeks. She couldn’t read his expression; not these days. Once, she had been able to tell what he was thinking from the slightest shift of his eyes or the twitch of his mouth.
Now, his face seemed like an impenetrable wall—even though she was currently being held secure against his chest.
She wasn’t about to say something that might provoke him and risk being dropped on her injured ankle.
Besides, she needed to tell him the truth before he heard it from someone else.
"He did save me, but only once." Bianca glanced cautiously at him. "The moment another danger appeared, he ran away and left me behind... just like that day."
Peregrine’s expression didn’t change.
"So I truly don’t know why he keeps lingering around. It’s very strange. I certainly haven’t encouraged him. I barely spoke to him, actually."
He said nothing. There wasn’t even a twitch in his expression, and Bianca couldn’t guess his mood.
Bianca sighed inwardly.
Sometimes, she had the overwhelming urge to grab his face and shake him until she could see what was actually going on inside that head of his.
It couldn’t possibly be empty. Peregrine was far too intelligent for that.
So why does he always look like that?
Finally, he spoke.
"Hold on tight if you don’t want to be dropped."
Bianca blinked.
So... we’re not talking about Julian anymore?
She was perfectly happy with that. She didn’t want to talk about that coward either. She closed her eyes and leaned closer, tightening her arms around Peregrine’s neck.
If Peregrine chose to kill Julian, that was his business. It would be a dragon wasting its breath on a measly spider anyway.
Bianca didn’t care, as long as she got home with what remained of her dignity.
Peregrine glanced toward the trees. Julian cautiously peeked around the trunk. Their eyes met. Peregrine didn’t move. He didn’t even need to.
Julian disappeared behind the tree.
Bianca felt Peregrine leap. Her arms tightened instinctively around his neck.
He leapt again... And again.
She didn’t dare open her eyes. She didn’t hear the sound of a sword fight. She didn’t feel Peregrine sheath his weapon.
She didn’t care. All that mattered was holding on and getting home.
Unfortunately, her wicked imagination had other plans.
There was something about being this close to him, held securely against his chest while he seemed completely unaware of what was happening inside her head, that made behaving herself almost impossible.
His scent surrounded her.
Peregrine had always smelled good—clean and warm, faintly woodsy, with something deeper beneath it that she had never quite been able to name. But this close, with his warmth against her and his scent filling her senses, it was almost unfair.
A mischievous thought slipped into her mind.
What if I lean closer?
She did, just a little, and her lips brushed the warm skin of his neck as though by accident. She waited, scarcely breathing.
Nothing happened.
Not even a twitch.
Bianca’s eyes gleamed.
Oh.
Her smile widened.
Interesting.
She wanted to nibble the spot where her lips had touched him. Just a tiny one. Surely that couldn’t hurt.
Well... perhaps a little.
But if Peregrine realized she was taking liberties while he was unaware, he might react in an instant, and there was a very real possibility that she would end up being tossed aside like an unruly cat.
No, no. Better not.
Besides, she had an imagination.
And unlike Peregrine, her imagination was wonderfully cooperative.
She leaned closer, breathing in his scent, and let her thoughts run wild.
In her mind, she kissed his neck again, slowly this time, just because she could. Then she followed the sharp line of his jaw and paused there, admiring her imaginary handiwork.
Oh, this is nice.
She imagined Peregrine standing against an ancient tree, looking as stern and formidable as ever while she stood before him with absolutely no intention of behaving.
Her imaginary self reached for his collar.
One tie came loose.
Then another.
Bianca’s eyebrows lifted.
Goodness.
There was considerably more of him beneath that shirt than she had expected.
Her imaginary fingers skimmed over the broad warmth of his chest, feeling the hard planes beneath her palms.
Warm.
Her hand moved slightly.
Solid.
Another touch.
Very solid.
She smiled to herself.
My husband.
That thought sent a little flutter through her.
She stepped closer until barely any space remained between them and looked up. Those amber eyes were watching her.
Usually, they were cold and sharp and impossible to read.
But in her imagination?
Oh, they were definitely looking at her differently.
His gaze was dark and intent, as though he wanted to devour her.
Bianca’s heart gave a ridiculous little leap.
Oh.
She tried very hard not to look pleased.
She failed.
But you’re forgetting something, Your Grace.
She lifted a hand to his face and traced the sharp line of his jaw. I’m the one in charge here. For once, the thought made her positively giddy.
She leaned closer until his breath warmed her lips, then kissed him.
The first kiss was soft, almost teasing. She pulled back just enough to look at him, then smiled when her imaginary Peregrine remained exactly where she had left him.
Well?
She kissed him again.
This time, she lingered.
Her hand settled against his chest, and she imagined the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. Her fingers curled into his shirt as she drew closer, suddenly far more interested in this game than she had intended to be.
It was perfectly reasonable.
She was his wife, after all.
Surely wives were allowed to kiss their husbands.
And touch them.
And perhaps admire them a little.
Bianca’s cheeks warmed.
Perhaps a lot.
Her breath caught as her imagination carried her further, and her heart fluttered so eagerly that she almost felt embarrassed by herself.
Yet her imaginary Peregrine remained beneath her hands, silent and captivated, his amber eyes fixed entirely on her.
"Are you still scared?" Peregrine’s voice came from directly above her. "Your heart is pounding."
Bianca gasped and snapped out of her imagination. It wasn’t only his voice that startled her. A fine spray of mist had struck her face.
"I..." She opened her eyes.
Mist swirled around them. Bianca blinked.
Where are we?
"Are you hungry?" Peregrine asked.
She stared at him.
"You’ve been munching on my neck for a while."
Bianca’s entire face went hot. She slowly turned her eyes toward his neck. A faint red mark was visible exactly where her lips had touched him.
She grimaced.
Why?
Why can’t I stop at imagining things?
Why did I actually nibble on this dragon’s neck?
Her stomach dropped.
I’m dead, aren’t I?
Before she could contemplate her imminent demise, the mist began to clear. And Bianca finally saw what surrounded them.
Her heart seemed to fall straight through her body.
There was nothing beneath them. Nothing close enough to reach. Far, far below, the capital stretched across the horizon, its towers and rooftops looking impossibly small.
Bianca stared.
Then she looked down again. The blush on her face vanished, and her face went pale.
They were in the sky. Very high in the sky.
She whipped her gaze back to Peregrine, her eyes widening as both arms instinctively locked around his shoulders.
"What are we doing here?"
Her voice came out as a shaky whisper.
Please, don’t throw me down...