Page 36 of Merging Wright

“We need to save a town so we can go back to who we are.”

“Who are we?” Jane’s voice is too quiet.

I only stare back at her, afraid to admit all the feelings rumbling inside me—who I want her to be and what I know she shouldn’t mean to me.

Jane steps forward. Her hand comes to my chest.

My heart actually hurts under her touch.

Acushla. The term is wrong. Jane cannot be my pulse.

“Kiss me,” Jane demands.

A heavy pause falls between us, and I recall her challenge at our wedding. I loved her challenge. This is the only wedding kiss I’ll ever have, Mr. Wright. Make it a good one.

In a year, Jane will be free to marry again. She could have another wedding kiss, a nicer ceremony, and a better man.

“Jane,” I whisper, eyes avoiding hers, but she grips my chin with strength I don’t expect.

“Convince me this was nothing.”

At first, I can’t. The second Jane steps closer and wraps her arms around my neck, I’m giving in for one more minute. One more thrust of my tongue and lap over her lips. One more taste of that sweet mouth that had sucked my dick with champagne in her throat. One more—

Then I still. My mouth holds firm. I remove my hands from her hips and clench them into fists.

Jane freezes against me. She pulls back, hands slowly slipping from my shoulders. “Calling you Volde-Mach doesn’t do you justice. It’s an insult to the leader of the death eaters.”

Her slur couldn’t be more accurate. I hate myself at the moment.

If only Fischer hadn’t been such a dick and put that bullshit clause about a wife in his will, we wouldn’t be in this position.

And if only I’d been able to steal from Death, my past would be different.

19

Playlist: “Blue Ain’t Your Color” – Keith Urban

[Jane]

“You’re married!” my younger sister Mae shrieks into the phone two mornings after my wedding.

So much for Mach’s demand I tell my family.

Since our truly awful parting kiss and the severe ripping of my heart, I’ve hardly seen my new husband. We returned to Wrightwood in silence. I couldn’t look at him despite the soft cry of my name once we arrived at his family home. Looking back always means you’re looking in the wrong direction, my youngest sister Lindee once told me. Upon entering Camilla’s house, we found the place full of family and well-wishers for a wedding brunch.

“Shit,” Mach had muttered behind me. That was certainly one word for our uncomfortable entrance in day-old wedding clothes. Thankfully, I was able to beg off a few minutes to shower and change, leaving Mach to tackle those gathered.

In the shower, I was torn between wanting to wash away how used my body felt and wishing to keep every mark, every kiss intact for an eternity. The scalding water did its damage, though, ridding my skin of Mach’s touch and slightly warming the hard freeze within my veins.

I like seeing my kiss on you. Jesus, he was such a good liar. Had he held his eyes still when he spoke those words to me? I couldn’t remember. I was in such a kiss-drunk haze I didn’t know any better than to follow him wherever he might have led me.

Stupid shepherd. Stupider sheep.

Because where he led me was a night of unbelievable bliss and unhealable heartbreak the following morning.

“So, Tucker told you,” I respond to Mae. My voice is lackluster with the waning enthusiasm of both my body and my spirit.

“He did.” Mae laughs through the phone. “But now I want to hear your side of the story.”