She sucked in air like she had been starved.
Their chests were heaving.
"I’ll ruin you, little lamb," Tharen said, his voice raw.
Breathless, she didn’t step away. "You already have. Still, I am here."
A soft growl drew their attention. The wolves were awake, prowling the stone length of the outlook as they watched with hunger. Ven lay on the bed, grooming herself, golden eyes lazy as if judging Luella for her weakness.
"I can’t be what you need, Luella," Tharen said gruffly. "I don’t even know if I can try."
He stepped away from her.
Lips swollen, terrified and thrilled, she trembled. "Don’t try then. Just be you, Tharen… It is enough."
The wind whipped his hair around him, revealing the pointed tips of his ears. Shadows under his eyes and hollowed cheeks, everything about him was sharp. "No promises, little lamb."
The silence stretched on in the wake of their words—and in the aftermath of his punishing kiss.
Something had shifted between them irrevocably. And they both knew it.
"Go to bed," Tharen said, turning away from her. He whistled sharply under his breath, and the three wolves crowded around him, following as he walked back inside.
His hands gripped the curtains, and his eyes fell to her. "No promises," he repeated, as if to warn her.
She nodded. "I know."
Tharen pulled the curtains shut.
She didn’t go back inside immediately.
It was risky, she knew, but she just needed a moment to herself. Or maybe she needed lots of moments.
Luella blew out a sharp breath, feeling it rustle the frizzed curls around her cheeks, and she swore, the wind seemed to sigh right along with her.
There was no ignoring it—not this time. She could run or hide no longer.
She placed a hand over her heart, wondering if the magic within her was right under her breastbone, knocking against her flesh so as to feel her touch, too, just as she yearned to reach for it.
She found herself stepping away from the safety of Tharen’s outlook, where the golden candlelight threatened to break through the curtain that separated them.
Further still, she ventured, entranced by the feel of the wind against her cheeks, drifting through her feathers like a phantom lover.
Her lips were swollen and tingly, and even the harsh bite of the wind couldn’t numb the feeling.
The trees beckoned, swaying sharply in the wind as the bridges connecting them groaned and creaked. It sounded just like the ship had when they’d been at sea. It reminded her so much of sleeping in that swaying hammock that her lids fluttered shut and a melancholic smile broke free.
She wished she had soaked up every moment aboard that ship.
The near-constant thrum of insects was abuzz, like a distant echo of the mass of thoughts that consumed her.
Perhaps that was why she grew wary the very moment they stopped.
It was utterly silent. No more chirp of birds or chitter of insects.
She realized just how alone she was here in the wind-soaked, tree-covered night.
The creaking of the bridges was no longer comforting to her, but ominous.
