The weight of the heavy silver pendant resting against my chest feels less like a piece of jewelry and more like a physical anchor, dragging me deeper into a territory I have no formula to navigate.
“You’re still wearing it,” he whispers.
Before I can come up with a logical response, Raylen reaches across the table. His long, calloused fingers wrap firmly around the thick silver chain. With a slow, deliberate smirk, he uses the necklace to playfully tug me forward, dragging my chest flush against the edge of the table until my face is mere inches from his.
“Raylen—” I start, but the word is completely stolen.
He closes the remaining distance, capturing my lips with a deep, claiming kiss. He tastes like sweet pear-mead, summer heat, and a desperate hunger that leaves my mind completely blank. As his lips move against mine with a possessive confidence, the loud tavern around us vanishes.
When he finally pulls back, just a fraction, his thumb lingers on my jawline, his breathing as ragged as my own.
I stare into his pretty eyes, my fingers trembling where they rest against his vest. A terrifying realization crashes through my defenses, leaving me exposed. I don’t want this to be a two-week adventure. I don’t want this romance to end when the Everend Market packs up its tents and the festival flutes go quiet.
I look at the beautiful, wild rogue in front of me—a man built for the open road and endless horizons—and a desperate question echoes through my racing mind.
How on earth am I going to convince him to keep me?
We walk back to the cottage in a comfortable, heavy silence as the afternoon sun dips, painting the sky in soft shades of violet and gold. Cinder trots lazily ahead of us, her fiery tail flicking against the tall grass, exhausted from her afternoon of festival mischief.
The moment the wooden door clicks shut behind us, locking out the distant, muffled hum of the market, the air inside the cottage shifts.
It feels smaller. Closer.
Raylen unbuckles his leather quiver, setting it carefully against the wall before turning to face me. He looks so fucking edible in the dimming light. His sharp jawline. His braided lilac hair coming loose and curling slightly from the afternoon heat.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he steps into my personal space.
I blink, my back pressing against the door. “Doing what, precisely?”
“Calculating,” he whispers.
He reaches out, his thumb gently tracing my jaw. His calloused skin sends a familiar, electric hum straight down my spine. “Your eyes get incredibly dark when you’re runningnumbers in that beautiful head of yours, Sy. What are you counting?”
I’m counting the days we have left,I want to say.I’m trying to figure out how to stretch a fortnight into a lifetime.
Instead, I let out a shaky breath. “I am merely realizing that my memories are not the only things I have miscalculated.”
Raylen’s expression softens, the playful rogue vanishing to reveal the fiercely tender boy from our teens. He leans in closer, his chest brushing against mine, his hands coming up to rest securely on the small of my back.
“Then stop calculating,” he breathes against my lips. “Just feel.”
When his mouth meets mine this time, there is no crowded tavern around us, no urgent search for our sisters, and no frantic panic or stress. It is slow, deep, and devastatingly sexy. He still tastes like sweet pear-mead.
His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against his radiating warmth until I’m untangled.
As we sway slightly together in the center of the quiet room, my mind goes beautifully, wonderfully blank. He guides me to the reading chair in the corner and straddles my lap so I’m forced to look up into his pretty eyes. Cinder hops up on his shoulders, causing the two of us to laugh. In this moment, there’s nothing weighing me down, nothing suffocating me or causing my chaotic mind to whirl with panic. I don’t know where the open road will take him when the market ends, but right here, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the shelter of this cozy cottage, I feel safe.
Chapter eleven
Sylar
TheAstronomyPavilionisa breathtaking chamber of deep velvet shadows and shifting light. High above our heads, the ceiling is completely open to the cosmos, and the air is thick with shimmering, magical stardust that drifts downward like a slow-motion snowfall.
I stand at the center of the polished stone dais, my palms resting against the wooden podium. Before me sits a small, intimidating panel of five elders representing the Celestial Society.
They are dressed in formal silver robes, their expressions serious, maybe even a little bored. Behind them, a small crowd of high scholars and curious market-goers fills the gallery.
A week ago, my heart would have been hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I would have been drowning in a sea of data and numbers, praying my logic would hold up.
