Jasmine leans in, her mouth at my ear. She speaks, but in the dream I can’t make out what she is saying.
The world spins, and I’m falling.
With a jolt, I wake up, gasping, my heart pounding.
3:00 a.m.
The witching hour.
For a second, I just lie there, trying to get my bearings. The dream lingers, and my heart is still not under control. My whole body is tense, like I’m about to be attacked any second. Then I notice my hands. My fingers are sparking. Tiny threads of golden light dancing from my skin, lighting up in the dark.
I sit up, staring. I can feel the magic. Not the weak, watered-down drip I’m used to, but a full-on current, just beneath the surface, like someone turned on the tap.
Ash. He must have loosened the grip on my magic. Maybe Helena’s actions and Jasmine’s arrival broke his focus, or maybehe’s finally letting me have some slack on my leash. Either way, it’s more power than I’ve felt in months.
I’m so caught up in staring at my hands that I almost miss the familiar, cold-tinged sensation that means I’m not alone.
Drake.
He’s in the room with me. I can’t see him, but I know he’s here. I can feel his presence, like a cold breeze through an open window.
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.
I just lift the blanket, slide over, and make room for him in the bed. The invitation is clear.
There’s a shimmer at the edge of the mattress, and then Drake is there, more solid than he has been able to be. Maybe the surge in my magic is helping him anchor himself.
He doesn’t hesitate. He slips in next to me, wearing clothes from a century ago, but they vanish as he slides under the covers, and suddenly it’s just skin, his against mine, nothing between us but my thin t-shirt and a hundred things we’re not saying.
For a second, we just look at each other.
He reaches out, brushes his fingers over my cheek, gently. I lean into his touch, needing it more than I can tell him.
Then I pull him in, kissing him hard.
He responds swiftly, mouth hungry and a little rough, like he’s afraid this will be our last chance. His hands slide under my shirt, skimming up my thighs, over my hips, until he finds my breasts. He cups them, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and Ishiver, so happy I can actually feel him, every inch of him. Every part of my body is awake, alive, on fire with magic and need.
Drake breaks the kiss for a second. “Rose. Are you okay? After what happened?—”
I kiss him again, shutting him up. “Later,” I whisper. “I don’t want to talk. Please.”
His hands are everywhere now, roaming over my skin, finding every curve. He moves slowly at first, like he’s afraid to hurt me, but when I dig my nails into his back, he groans and deepens the kiss, pressing me back into the mattress.
I arch against him, wanting more, wanting to drown out everything else. For the first time since last night, I’m not thinking about Jasmine or Helena or my cursed fate. I’m not thinking at all.
I’m just feeling.
Drake’s mouth traces down my neck, teeth nipping lightly at my skin. His hands push my shirt up, exposing the softness of my stomach, then my breasts. He pauses, hand splayed over my heart, grounding me. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m not leaving you.”
I believe him.
He slides down, lips finding my nipple, sucking gently. My back curves, pushing my breasts towards him instinctively. I gasp, grabbing his hair, needing him closer.
Drake’s hands are steady, sure. For once, there’s no glitch, no fade, and he feels real, solid, like he belongs here. With me.
He kisses his way lower. My thighs are already parted, and when he skims his lips just above where I want him, I gasp, bucking up to meet his mouth.
He lingers, tasting me slowly at first, then building. My hands play in his soft hair, and for a second I feel like the exact opposite of the girl who spent all night being powerless.
