Page 294 of Blade of the Nightking

I stared at his outstretched hand, then at the earnest look on his face, his expression almost tortured as he waited for my answer—for my acceptance or my rejection. My pulse quickened.

My hand lifted on its own and slipped into his.

His fingers folded gently around mine. The soft rasp of his calluses against my skin sent warmth unfurling through me as he pulled me to my feet. He drew me toward him. I expected him to settle one hand at my waist, to lift our joined hands between us.

Instead, he guided one of my arms over his shoulder, then the other.

The movement brought us flush together.

Every line of his body met mine, leaving not a breath of space between us. His mouth hovered only inches from my own. The wild scent of leather and wind enveloped me as the rest of the world fell away.

Slowly, we began to sway.

Far beyond the trees, bone drums thundered and voices rose in wild celebration. But we danced to different music—the whisper of the wind through the branches, the rustle of leaves overhead, the steady beat of our hearts.

I swallowed. "This is dancing?" I asked, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice—or the flutter from my stomach. It was unlike any dance I'd ever known. There were no practiced steps, no measured distance between us. Only the impossible closeness of him, the hard planes of his body yielding just enough for mine to fit against them.

His mouth curved into a small, almost wry smile. "It counts."

I unraveled against him, lulled by the slow rhythm of our movements, the feel of him against me, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Safe.

The realization settled softly in my chest, as impossible as it was undeniable.

Almost timidly, I rested my cheek against his chest. His body seemed to fold around me at once, his arms tightening around my waist as though he'd been waiting for me to let him.

He lowered his head until his lips brushed the curve of my neck. The touch was no more than a whisper, barely there, yet every inch of me came alive.

My hands slipped from his shoulders to his nape. For one reckless heartbeat, I hesitated. Then I threaded my fingers through the dark silk of his hair. A quiet breath escaped him.

I closed my eyes.

There was only this.

Only him.

And the impossible, foolish hope that the moment would last forever.

"I have..." The words rumbled through his chest, and into mine. "I have a gift for you."

He eased back just enough for our eyes to meet. His hands rose to cup my cheeks, tipping my face up to his. The softness had vanished from his expression, a faint furrow marking his brow as his silver-flecked eyes searched mine.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. My pulse stumbled.

He wet his lips.

My heart lurched as I waited for him to close the last impossible distance between us. But he didn’t.

"A parting gift."

My mouth tugged downward.

"Tomorrow we'll find the well." His thumb traced lightly over my cheekbone. "If everything goes as it should... our bond will be broken."

The words emptied me.

I’d wanted this. Dreamed of the day I'd finally be free of him.