She wanted to trust Sebastian. Believe what he’d seen. That he was doing the right thing.
But if he was wrong...
It didn’t matter. She was already moving, her knees soaking on the wet ground, her body deciding before her mind. The choice wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t safe. It definitely wasn’t smart.
It was him.
There was only one choice she could live with. She’d been looking for an excuse all along.
Even if I’m wrong, I’d rather be wrong with him than right without him.
The moment she moved closer to him, Sebastian stiffened – his whole body jerking backwards when she reached for him. The bonds bit deeper as he twisted, his wrists wrenching against them hard enough to burn his skin as crimson tried to form uselessly at his fingertips, the nightshade smothering his magic before it could take hold. His eyes were wild now. He wasn’t used to this. Not being in control. Feeling weak.
“Don’t–” His voice was a harsh whisper. “Don’t put me under again.”
It wasn’t a command, or even a warning. It was a plea. Because they both knew: he couldn’t stop her if she tried. To hear him, the proud, unyielding Sebastian Thorne, forced to beg her – it stopped her dead in her tracks. She hated it.
No. No, I wouldn’t.
But of course that’s what he thought. Her hand lowered a fraction. She steadied her voice as best she could.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I thought that last time,” he spat.
She felt it. His fear. His humiliation. He was bracing for whatever magic she was about to force on him.
I did that. Made him afraid of me.
She didn’t say anything, but moved so she could reach his wrists. The moment she got close enough, he lunged. He hooked his bound hands over her chest and yanked her against him. Hard. Her back collided with his chest, the nightshade cord pressing down on her collarbone.
His breath came hot against her ear. “Untie me,” he growled. “Now, Healer. Or I’ll snap your neck before you can scream.”
Oh fuck.
Her pulse thundered, blood roaring in her ears, but for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The heat of him against her. His arms wrapped around her like iron. He was strong, Gods, he was so strong, even without his crimson magic.
What is wrong with me?
She should be thrashing, clawing at his arms, begging for her life. He could kill her. She knew he could. But she didn’t fight.
Because she didn’t believe him.
Not one bit.
He was desperate. Cornered. But not dangerous.
Not to her.
“If I see one spark of emerald,” he warned, “I’ll kill you. I swear it.”
No, you won’t.
The thought hit her, sharp and unshakable. Like she knew it deep in her soul. She forced her body to relax into his hold and felt his heart racing against her back.
His grip faltered. “What the hells–?” he muttered, confusion bleeding into fury. “I mean it.” He tightened his hold against her throat just enough to make her gasp, to prove his point.
But she tilted her head, caught a glimpse of his shadowed profile in the firelight. “No, you don’t.”
