Page 103 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

His grip tightens on my hips. “Dangerous words. We’re still not even, and I’ve been thinking about all the ways I’m going to ruin you later.”

“You already have.” The words slip out before I can stop them. They’re too honest, too real.

His whole body changes. The playful tension drains out of him, replaced by a rawness he doesn’t try to hide. His hands slide from my hips to cup my face, tilting it up so I can’t look away.

“I’m so far gone for you, it terrifies me.” His voice is wrecked, like I just broke him open with three words. His thumb traces my cheekbone, tender and reverent.

“You’re it for me, little fox. You’re it.”

My heart forgets how to beat.

I don’t say anything. I just look up at him, this devastating man.

“Are you going to come in at some point?” Finn appears at Ryewood’s shoulder, smirking. “Or should I tell the Willowmeres you’ll be skipping the ceremony to stare into each other’s eyes?”

“Fuck off, Finn,” Ryewood says.

“That’s not a no.”

Finn’s hand wraps around my arm, casually tugging me away from Ryewood.

“I’m stealing her for a drink before this thing starts. Rosie can be your date until you remember how to function.”

It looks like teasing, but I know my brother. There’s a tightness in his jaw, and he gives me a light squeeze on my arm. He’s checking on me the way only Finn can, without anyone else noticing.

“I function fine—” Ryewood says.

“You really don’t.” Finn’s already pulling me toward the entrance. “You won’t even survive five minutes without her.”

He steers me toward a quiet alcove near the back of the hall, away from the crowd, away from Ryewood. His easy smile stays fixed in place until we’re hidden behind a pillar. Then it drops.

“What are you doing, Gemma?” The worry in his voice is unmistakable.

My throat tightens. “I’m handling it.”

“Are you?” he says as he searches my face. “Because what I just saw out there doesn’t look like you’re handling it. It looks like you’re getting in too deep.”

I open my mouth to deflect, to say something sharp and clever that makes this all seem under control. But nothing comes out because he’s right. He’s right, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“Finn.” My voice gives out on his name. “I don’t know—” I can’t finish. I press my hand to my mouth to keep the sob from escaping.

His expression fractures.

“Hey. Hey, no—come here.”

He doesn’t wait. His hands close around my arms, and he pulls me into him. I go rigid against his chest. He holds on anyway, firm and unyielding, until I stop fighting it. I press my face into his shoulder and try to breathe. Try not to fall apart completely in the middle of a noble ceremony surrounded by strangers. But my hands are shaking, clutching his jacket, and everything I’ve been holding back is clawing its way up my throat.

“I didn’t—” I gasp. “I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“I know.” His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head. “I know. Just breathe.”

But I can’t breathe; my chest is caving in. My body already knows what my mind won’t accept: that I’m going to lose him. That I’m already losing him. Every moment I let myself fall deeper is another piece of me I’ll have to tear out when this ends.

“Finn—” His name comes out broken. “I can’t—he’s⁠—”

“I’ve got you,” he says, wrapped around me tight, shielding me from the room and from anyone who might see.

I don’t know how long we stand there. Me slowly giving up the fight and him holding me through it. When I finally pull back, he holds my arms and searches my expression.