Sitting on the bed, Evylin kicked off her boots, letting them clatter to the floor. Deckard eyed the careless behavior but didn’t say a word. They prepared for bed, and he intentionally—guiltily—kept his eyes away as she peeled off her chemise. He didn’t think he would ever grow used to the delight of seeing her naked form, but recently, it’d become a less wholesome pleasure.
Evylin never took off the Space Relic anymore, and seeing the gold and onyx necklace draped openly across her bare chest gave him the unholiest of urges.
Since waking after the Space Keep, touching Evylin had grown increasingly difficult. Each time, he felt an immediate surge of magic—profound and provocative. Deckard had been careful not to reveal his discomfort, but it had made sleeping next to one another a struggle. He lay awake with her in his arms each night, fighting the whispers in his head.
Let me out.
Gratefully, Deckard had managed to avoid intercourse for the past thirteen days. He didn’t know what such blatant and open intimacy would do to him. Remembering the surging power that swept through him since their Bonding, he feared losing control to the Space Relic—and he couldn’t ask Evylin to remove it, knowing she’d only tell him that he needed to learn to ignore his impulses.
Pulling his nightshirt over his head, Deckard cautiously glanced toward Evylin. He found her in her nightdress, climbing under the blankets. He forced himself to relax. His muscles felt unendingly tight these days, his brow unceasingly pinched.
Deckard picked upAttachments of the Soulfrom his nightstand and joined Evylin on the bed. They’d made it through several pages over the last week and a half, discussing the archaic wording thoroughly to ensure they both understood. Despite their steady progress, he hardly felt more informed on Bonding, the earliest pages dealing primarily with the process and ceremony of the Bond and its significance.
As he settled against the pillows and lifted the book’s cover, Evylin’s hand stopped him. He looked over at her, confused. “Not tonight,” she said.
“No?” he asked, even as she took the book from him.
Evylin leaned across him to set it back on the nightstand. He couldn’t help but tense as she brushed against his chest, a current of magic slipping across his skin even through the fabric of their nightclothes. He forced his breath out, attempting to ease his taut muscles.
With a knowing smile, Evylin sat back down at his side. “I want to talk with you,” she said.
“All right,” Deckard said, thankful she hadn’t tried to take his hand.
In the bronze lamplight, her amber eyes glowed. She tucked some of her waves behind her ear and settled on the bed beside him. “Jonn,” she began, “you have to stop being afraid of me.”
He frowned in confusion, so she clarified, “Afraid of touching me.”
Deckard’s body seized.
Evylin’s lips lifted with dry humor. “You thought you’d hidden it from me?” she noted.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he admitted, “I did.”
“I noticed the first day,” she said. “Ever since I started wearing the Relic, you’ve flinched every time I touch you.”
Deckard pulled a tight smile. “I suppose it’s a virtue, being a poor liar.”
“We’ve already discussed your penchant for lying,” she teased. “Now, tell me: What’s wrong?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Deckard considered his words. “I can’t control it,” he said at last.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you’re letting it control you?”
Deckard frowned, meeting her gaze.
Evylin grabbed his hand, and as expected, the touch sent a thrill of power through his arm. “You keep fighting it,” she said. “But it’s fighting back, isn’t it? Every time you push it down, it grows stronger, making the urge to use it greater. And touching me draws on it.”
Deckard gave a slow blink, knowing he didn’t need to confirm it.
Her expression grew concerned. “You can’t keep this up,” she said. “Not only do you have to learn to control it, but you can’t stay away from me forever. I need you.”
He dropped his head. “I know,” he said, aching to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. “I need you too.”
“Then have me.”
