“I need to speak to Jack in private.”
My gaze snaps to his. No way am I leaving Jamie. Not after?—
Solan grips my shoulder, his focus still on Varek. “I need your oath that Jamie is kept safe and does not leave this room. Him or Calythra.”
“Jamie will always be safe with me,” Calythra is quick to say, a terseness in his tone that makes it obvious he’s offended. But still, he’s a kid in training surrounded by a bunch of rebelsarmed to their eyeballs in steel… and even a few guns (some I don’t recognise as being Earth-made).
Solan turns to Calythra. “And I know you will continue to protect him. But I also need Varek’s oath.”
“You have it,” Varek says after a beat. “They are safe and under my protection while you seek the privacy you have requested.”
I narrow my eyes at his wording. “How can you trust his… oath?” I ask, trying not to choke on the word. It feels ancient, like something out of a myth. But the way Solan’s expression tightens, I know it carries far more weight here.
“Oaths are binding here,” Solan replies, his voice low but firm. “More than words. They hold power. To break one….” He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “It’s not something anyone survives intact. Physically or otherwise.”
Varek smiles faintly, the expression both amused and grim. “To betray an oath is to unravel yourself. Painfully. Permanently. Not a risk I’m inclined to take, especially when I’ve given my word to protect.”
Jamie steps closer to me, and I squeeze his shoulder, not entirely reassured but unwilling to push further.
“So, what now?” I ask, glancing at Solan, then Varek.
“You go with him,” Varek says, his tone a blend of command and nonchalance. “I’ll ensure the boy is comfortable. That way….” He gestures towards a hallway leading deeper into the converted bowling alley.
I don’t move immediately. “And it’s safe down there?”
“Just a private room. Space for conversation,” Varek replies smoothly, his silver eyes gleaming. “Nothing more.”
The unease prickling my spine intensifies, but Solan touches my elbow lightly, drawing my focus.
“It’s necessary,” he says, his voice quiet but insistent.
“Fine.” My voice comes out sharper than intended, my nerves fraying at the edges. “But this better not be one of those ‘I’ll tell you the bare minimum’ conversations, because I’ve about had it with those.”
Solan’s lips twitch, a hint of dry amusement, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns to follow Varek’s directions, and I reluctantly trail after him.
The hallway is dimly lit, the air cooler than in the main area. My boots thud softly against the polished wood floor, and with every step, my stomach tightens. Whatever Solan needs to tell me, it’s big. And the dread pooling in my chest tells me I might not be ready for it.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
It turnsout being in an enclosed space with Solan is possibly the worst or best thing in the world. It depends on how I look at it, because fuck, all I see and smell and bloody well feel is him.
How the hell am I meant to concentrate on anything beyond the two metres between us that are too damn wide?
“Jack.” The word is one long rumble. It’s a deep caress. A gentle sweep of heat and longing and so much need— “Jack,” Solan repeats, the flash of hunger in his gaze nearly enough to have me whipping out my dick and falling to my knees.
Or onto my back.
Hell, on my hands and knees.
I’m pretty sure I’d do a damn headstand if that turns out to be his kink.
Words that I don’t understand pour out of him—the additional clue that he’s struggling to be in such close proximity to me.
We came here to talk. For Solan to explain whatever it is that I’m sure is going to get a reaction that isn’t simply me wanting to see his dick and hoping like hell he has a peen that’s going to send me spiralling and exploding.
The sheer size of my handsome, brutish monster—and don’t get me started that I’m wading into Mills & Boon territory here, since this is what Solan does to me (and yes, I may not be a big reader and my mum’s soft porn was man-on-woman, but when I was fifteen and restricted from internet use, I took my thrills however I could)—must mean he’s packing, right?
