The tip of her nose grazes my jaw. Every point of contact is startlingly clear—the press of her knee against mine, the curve of her hip, the slow rise and fall of her ribs.
I could stay here forever, but Max yawns.
“Let’s go to bed, little fox,” I say softly, and she nods.
We head to the tent, arm in arm. Nick’s breaths are already slow and regular at the back as Max shuffles in.
She sits on the thin mattress and unzips her sleeping bag until it becomes more of a duvet. “We only have two of these, but I can share,” she whispers, her tone hovering between timid and playful.
I crawl in next to her, careful not to jostle the tent poles. Nick is stretched along the far side of the canvas wall with one arm flung over his head. Max peels off her jacket to make herself a pillow and settles in the middle, leaving the narrow space closest to the entrance for me. I ease down onto the ground and join her under the cover.
The tight space is delicious.
Lady is curled at our feet in her carrier, her loud purring filling the silence. We don’t speak, but Max’s breathing hitches when I graze the nape of her neck with my lips.
The flames within her glow faintly where our skin meets, and I trace absent patterns along the collar of her shirt, watching the fire respond. I graze her long, fiery braid, her slender shoulder,the small of her back, drawing patterns on her skin again and again to prove to myself that I’m not dreaming.
She trembles when I follow the shape of her waist to her hip, and I wrap one arm around her midriff to pull her closer.
The silence between us feels different. Almost sacred.
I’ve spent so many nights inches from her, wishing I could do this. The hungry, reckless need that ends in scorching kisses and ragged breaths burns in my throat, but it’s met with something softer. This isn’t the kind of hold that spirals anywhere, but a slow, grounding embrace. The shape of her presses against me, and the raw, disbelieving relief of being allowed to hold her inflates my chest.
My traitorous mind wanders—to a plush mattress by the hearth, to the slow peel of layers that comes before a different kind of embrace. To Nickolas Bloodsinger being far, far away, out of earshot and out of mind.
But this is enough for tonight.
Chapter 28
Sweet Dreams
MAX
E’s breathing evens out behind me, slow and deep, the rhythm of someone who has surrendered to sleep. I envy him for it. My own eyes remain open, fixed on the faint seam of moonlight cutting through the tent.
He’s still wrapped around me, his soft exhales fanning against the back of my ear, maddeningly intimate.
The proof of his desire presses against my lower back, but he’s definitely asleep. It’s only a body reflex, and I tell myself to relax, to let exhaustion drag me under, but my mind refuses to shut down. I’m too aware of the weight of his arm around my waist. Of the way his thighs rest along mine. Of the steady, reassuring press of his chest against my back.
My flames stir beneath my skin, not flaring—just simmering.
There are only two layers of fabric between us as we spoon, and that alone is enough to keep me awake.
I shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Not with Nick sleeping a few feet away. Not with the unresolved mystery of who E was in life still hanging over us. But the fact is, he’s got a body now,and that changes the rules between us in ways I’m not ready to examine too closely.
I imagine turning over slightly, my mouth finding his in the dark without words, and my pulse swirls. Instead, I focus on the steadiness of his breathing and lean back into him, enough to reassure myself he won’t disappear by sunrise.
Sleep takes me despite everything. Shadows aren’t supposed to allow dreamers from Faerie, but I find myself in the Dreaming anyway.
I’m small—eleven, maybe—my bare feet scraping against the wooden boards of my mother’s bedroom closet.
The windows are sealed with rough, prickly planks that let only thin stripes of copper light through. Outside, the eternal autumn bleeds through the dark, leaves the color of rust drifting in a slow, soundless fall under the bright moonlight.
It’s the kind of place that teaches you to move quietly, to hide, to listen before you breathe.
Don’t be seen, don’t make a sound, my instincts tell me.
I can’t move, though. It’s as if I’ve slipped back into a body that doesn’t truly belong to me.
