Page 82 of Cursebreaker

His lips twitch. “Which time?”

He laughs as he twirls me, but when he catches me in his arms again, his expression is guarded—hesitant.

“Your parents had brought me aboard the Lightbringer two weeks before,” he says with a heavy sigh. “You didn’t like me. I can’t imagine why not.” A glimmer of laughter lights his eyes. “You challenged me to a sword fight and won—obviously. But,” he adds with a small smile, “I tried to shake your hand—good sportsmanship and all—and you thought I was trying to attack you. So you bit me.”

My face flushes with uncomfortable heat. “I did not!”

He grins. “Grace was furious.” He twirls me again, but this time, when he catches me, he tips me back, holding me in his arms, suspended in midair. “I told you, right then and there, that one day, I wished to make you my wife.”

My breath leaves me in a shocked gasp. He holds me a moment longer, his eyes searching mine, his gaze trailing to my lips.…

Slowly, he draws me upright, his chest heaving—but not from the dance.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said anything.” He takes a small step back, putting distance between us. He looks away, shaking his head. “You don’t remember, and I—I should just let you forget.”

I close the distance, squeezing his hand, my other cupping his jaw. “I don’t want to forget.”

He looks at me with equal parts fear and hope, sinking into my touch with a shaky exhale. “I’ve spent my entire life wearing masks—bearing names others have given me. I’ve never let myself want anything,” he whispers, his eyes shut, face pinched, as if it pained him to say it. “But I would happily spend the rest of my life chasing clues if it meant we could have more time together.” His eyes flutter open, tentative. “Am I a fool for thinking you could ever want me the way I want you?”

I’m too stunned to speak, my heart racing. No, I want to tell him. I want you, too. I think I’ve always wanted you, even when I couldn’t remember you. But my skin itches, and I’m seized by the sudden urge to run. I try to speak, but my voice is clogged with emotion—with everything I want to say. I’ve spent my entire life running, and now I’m not sure what it would feel like to stop. To not have to hide.

More time together. At Castle Grim, I couldn’t allow myself to want that—to want him. To want time with him, just the two of us. And since finding out that Will had influenced my feelings, since freeing Titus from his own compulsions… it’s felt wrong, thinking about what I want. It still does.

I wet my lips. “Titus,” I say softly, and he looks just as terrified as I feel. “I trust you,” I tell him, my voice raw. “But I still don’t know if I can trust myself.”

I expect him to put distance between us again, but he just shakes his head, curses under his breath. “I knew it was too soon,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” I cut across him, my other hand coming up to cradle his face. My chest squeezes. “It’s just… I let myself feel for Will and look what happened! I’d never—I didn’t—” I choke on a sob. My head spins, faster and faster and—

Titus covers my hands with his, his voice gentle yet commanding, prompting me to look him in the eye. “You deserved someone you could trust with your feelings, not someone who exploited them.” Softly, his touch featherlight, he reaches out, brushing the tears from my cheeks. “It’s late,” he says, but the words are stilted, his teeth clenched, as if he meant to say something else but decided against it. “Big day tomorrow.” He takes a step back, and the loss of his warmth, his touch, aches like a fever. “You should get some sleep.”

I don’t move as he turns, blowing out the candles. I’m not sure when the music stopped, but it’s quiet all but for the groan of the ship as it’s rocked by the waves.

He starts for the door, and I lurch, as if to grab hold of him, but my hand lingers in the air.

“Titus?”

His shoulders tense. He doesn’t look back. “Yes, love?”

I drop my hand. “Stay.”

Not a question—not exactly.

He turns. His throat bobs. “All right,” he says, his voice rough.

But as he moves toward the chair in the corner of the room, I grab hold of the wooden post of the bed. Clear my throat.

“Will you…” The words get stuck, tangling themselves into knots. “Will you—” I sit on the edge of the bed with a huff, twisting the sheets in my fist. “I don’t want to be alone,” I say quietly. “Not tonight.”

He goes rigid, his eyes as wide as saucers in the moonlight. He manages a stiff nod.

He waits for me to crawl under the covers before I feel his weight as he eases onto the bed beside me.

“Hold me?” I whisper.

A moment of fear. Of hope. Of wanting.

And then his chest molds to the curve of my spine. His arm curls over my waist, his breath strained, tickling the back of my neck, his warmth encapsulating me.