Not having him at all … it’s worth much more than losing him again.
Setting one hand upon his scar, the other on his jaw, I look into silver eyes that reflect my flushed cheeks, tear-stained lashes, and the wild mess of my hair.
“Milaje—”
“This was a mistake.”
His eyes shutter, a raw, angry sound boiling in the back of his throat.
“It can’t happen again.”
Drenched in the heady musk of our tangled scents, I unsaddle myself from his lap and take backward steps toward the clothing rack, willing him to stay.
Don’t make this harder than it already is.
His canines lengthen. Ears sharpen. Eyes darken.
Please—
He stands, dwarfing me in both size and presence as he prowls forward—huge. Naked.
Beastly.
When he’s so close I feel his static against my skin, he stops, grips my chin, and tips my head, his words a frost skimming my lips as he says, “I bow to no one, but I’ll get down on my knees before the Gods and beg you to choose this.Tolive.”
He plants a kiss on my forehead, and again, I picture him falling backward off a cliff—down into the frothy nether.
Dead.
“Get dressed,” he murmurs against me, then grabs his pants off the rack and steps into them, pulling them up. “I’m taking you home.” Snatching his sword, he makes for the door, thumping it shut behind himself.
I claw at my tightening throat, breaths turning short and sharp as I picture him in bits, reeking of scorched death …
Murderer.
The vines that were so budding and hopeful turn yellow, brown, thenblack—breaking down into a blow of dust and inky seeds that clog my insides.
I carefully pick up those precious, hopeful seeds, tucking them through the split in my dome before plucking beads of luster, tenderly filling the jagged cleft as I crumple to the floor and weep.
Massaging my temples, I step over fallen fronds and fat, velvety vines that have woven paths through the soggy underbrush.
It began as a faint, insistent pecking between all the folds of my brain, a different kind of headache than the ones I’ve become accustomed to. Now it feels like a hammerbeak’s making little holes in my skull to store its winter treats.
The clouds crackle overhead, strings of rain weaving through the canopy and pattering upon leaves that are round as dinner plates. They face the sky, seeking even the tiniest shaft of light that filters down through the oppressive foliage.
The rain’s dribbled symphony is a welcome respite from the silence sitting heavily between us.
I peek over my shoulder, seeing Rhordyn four steps behind—sword in hand, his body a tower of rippling brawn.
Sooty gaze nailed to me.
I whip my head back around, cheeks heating, unable to stop my mind from tumbling toward images of his mouth on my skin. Planting a tender trail of love that both lit me up and burned my blackened soul.
Clearing my throat, I brush a vine to the side as I step over a fallen log.
I tripped on a rock this morning and now Rhordyn refuses to take the lead—following with near-silent steps, unspeaking but for the odd stern instruction.
A broody shadow tethered to my wake.
