Free Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) by Heather Demetrios

all the masters who took advantage of their jinn. Nalia had been one of the only jinn she knew whose master hadn’t forced her to sleep with him—in that, at least, she’d been lucky. Malek could be cruel, but he wasn’t a rapist. Though last night, she hadn’t been so sure, not at first.
    â€œLaerta,” Raif whispered. Come here.
    He drew her to him so that her heart pressed against his chest. He smelled like the Forest of Sighs, where the revolutionaries made their home: grass and trees and good, clean dirt.
    â€œI’m so tired of everything,” she said. “I just want to get my brother.”
    â€œI know,” he whispered against her hair.
    â€œI wish . . .” Nalia sighed. Not even she could get herself out of having to fulfill Malek’s wish.
    She felt Raif’s chiaan wrap around her like a soft blanket, a bright, restless energy that had begun to feel like home. Nalia pressed closer to him, all too aware that they were finally alone. He gasped a little as her chiaan slid into him and he tightened his arms around her.
    She’d never forget the moment when they first exchanged energy. At the time, Nalia had thought the intensity of feeling him inside her was because she’d spent so many of her years on Earth trying not to touch any jinn. The texture of her chiaan , so different from the other castes, would have instantly marked heras a Ghan Aisouri, as it had the night before, with Fareed’s slave. The only reason Nalia had been able to avoid being killed by the Ifrit during her three years of captivity on Earth was because Calar had thought all the Ghan Aisouri were dead. When Raif’s chiaan had surged through her, exploring, it felt like she’d peeled back the layers of her skin to show him what was underneath. But now she knew she hadn’t just been responding to the sensation of another jinni’s chiaan mingling with her own; it was encountering Raif himself, the force of him, that had been so disorienting .
    Still was.
    â€œI don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this,” he said, a smile in his voice.
    â€œWhat about this?” she whispered, brushing her lips against his.
    â€œDefinitely not.”
    He returned her kiss and when he opened his mouth, she tasted the sweet mint of Moroccan tea, felt the warm earthiness of his chiaan collide with her own. His kiss enveloped her in warmth, his want matching perfectly with her own. Raif was a rule meant to be broken, a promise made in starlight and darkness.
    She forgot about Kir. She forgot about everything.
    They tumbled onto one of the beds and the room melted away as Raif’s whole being seeped into her. He’d risked everything for Nalia—the revolution, his life. He’d offered himself up like a sacrifice to a fierce and lovely goddess and she had let him.
    You don’t deserve this, she thought as his hands snaked under her shirt. You don’t deserve him.
    Nalia grabbed his hands. “We have to go soon,” she whispered. “To meet Malek’s contact, remember?”
    Raif’s hair was still damp from his shower, a dark halo around his face as he looked down at her, like the images of Tirgan, the god of earth that graced the palace’s temple. “Zan won’t come in, you don’t have to worry about that,” he said.
    How could she explain without explaining? She had no right to take any more from him than she already had.
    I killed your best friend .
    â€œIt’s just . . . everything’s so complicated right now—”
    Coward. Tell him the truth. TELL HIM.
    â€œIt’s actually pretty simple: I love you,” he said. She sucked in her breath. “And you love me.” Raif trailed a finger along her jaw. “Right?”
    She nodded. So so much. Nalia pulled away.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he murmured, his breath hot against her neck.
    â€œNothing,” she lied.
    He traced her