But Maeve didn’t protest.
He took a deep breath and moved his lips to where her neck met her shoulder. And as his tongue licked across that soft place, she pushed her body up against his, and was unable to swallow the whimper that escaped her.
Reeve breathed deeply, the quiet rumble of a growl vibrated through her clothes and skin, and her very bones responded with shaking. She looked up at the stars as he kissed across her neck, the constellation he pointed to sparkling—
Maeve gasped and laughed as he tenderly bit a sweet spot on her neck. Reeve hummed in approval and pulled back, bringing their faces inches from one another.
Reeve slowly traced his fingers down her arm. “How did I ever deny myself you?” His hand found her waist. “You aren’t just perfection. You are the pursuit of it.” His fingers moved beneath her shirt. Warm, broad fingers caressed the skin of her stomach on the other side of the light fabric. Reeve’s eyes traced over her entire face before he spoke. “I try to give you time and space, but all I can see is you. Ienvision dying for you just to prove my worth. I see the rot of my grave giving birth to hydrangeas just to make you touch them.”
“You have quite the worshipful imagination,” said Maeve breathily, as her own hands moved up to his biceps.
“You have no idea,” he groaned, as his forehead touched down on hers and their eyes closed in synch.
“If you deny me,” he hummed, “I will understand.”
Their noses brushed.
Maeve opened her eyes. “If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,” she began, pulling a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, “by self-example mayst thou be denied.”
She could feel and hear him smile at her declaration, at her acceptance. His fingers spread across her cheeks, and his mouth pressed into her own, lips already parted, encapsulating hers. Maeve moved in tandem with him, sliding her hands up his arms and into his hair. Victoriously, at last, her fingers felt the smooth undercut beneath his dark hair.
His kiss deepened, swallowing her as they shared breath. Her stomach tightened with need for more. More of his taste, more of his touch—
Ice scraped down her spine and flooded her lungs. Shooting shards of frozen knives slammed into each vertebra one by one. Her vision flashed white as she saw a swarming pile of Dreaded Dead, with brute weapons in their hands—weapons glowing green.
They gathered like an army. Like a horde of soldiers preparing for battle. A Portal, unmistakably at the southern territory of Aterna, spiraled open before the mass of reincarnated and necromanced dead.
They were moving to attack—
There are more important things happening than his lips, Little Viper.
Mal’s voice shot across her mind like a backhand.
Chapter 43
Maeve’s hand moved across her throat. “Reeve,” she started, wanting nothing more than to run from the reality she’d seen, to feel the warmth of his body on hers again.
It was soothing. It was solid.
It was safe.
Nothing like what was coming for them.
He hushed her soothingly. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice calm.
Maeve sat up slowly and steadied her breathing. “The southern cities.”
“Are you certain?” his voice was low.
She nodded in earnest. “We have to go now.”
Reeve nodded and extended his hand to her.
Maeve looked at it, the hand that moments ago was sending her further into the blissful ignorance she longed for. She knew if she took his hand, she’d be facing Shadow and more of her destruction.
But she took it, grasping hard, because the fight was hers.
In a fraction of a second, they were back at the Celestian Palace. Reeve placed his hands on her shoulders.
