Page 86 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

She goes still.

“He loves you.” The words taste like ash, but I keep going. “And if that’s what you want—if he’s what you want—I won’t stand in your way.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“What I want, I can’t have.”

My breath catches.

“And I can’t choose him just because I can have him.” She stares at her ale. “Even if that means I’ll have nothing.”

I stare at her. The weight of what she’s saying, what she’s not saying, presses against my ribs.

My hand cups her cheek lightly, and I tilt her face toward mine. “You won’t have nothing,” I say quietly. “You’ll have me. For as long as you’ll let me stay.”

The words leave me, and I ache with how much I want them to be enough. But I’m not just a man who wants her. I’m a liability dressed up as a promise, and she deserves better than what loving me will cost her.

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something broken in them, not fresh but old, like she’s been carrying this long before this moment.

“You staying isn’t the problem, Rye.”

Her words land like a fist to my chest. I search her face for answers, but all I find is a sadness so deep it steals my breath, and something that looks a lot like goodbye.

She looks away and swallows hard. When she speaks again, her voice is almost shy. “Dance with me?”

It catches me completely off guard. She glances up at me, uncertainty flickering in those impossible eyes like she’s bracing for rejection.

“I thought you’d never ask, little fox.”

I pull her up before she can change her mind, my hands finding her waist to steady her. Something fierce and protective roars to life in my chest. I keep her hand in mine and lead her to the dance floor.

When we reach the floor, I turn her into me. I wrap one arm around her waist, drawing her close until there’s no space left between us. Her hand finds my shoulder. I press our joined hands to my chest.

The music is slow and perfect. I lead, letting my hand slide up her back, cradling her against me. She tucks her head beneath my chin, and I feel her let out a deep breath. I press my lips to her hair, lingering there, because letting go feels impossible right now.

We sway like that long enough for the rest of the room to fade. Everything outside of her stops existing. I’d stay here forever if she’d let me.

Then the music shifts. The fiddler picks up the tempo, the drummer kicks in, and suddenly the song is too bright and fast to ignore. I pull back just enough to see her face.

“Ready?”

Before she can answer, I spin her out, then pull her back in. She stumbles, catches herself against my chest, and then she laughs, bright and startled, and the sound is so fucking beautiful I nearly trip over my own feet.

“Warn me next time,” she says, grinning.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I spin her again, and this time, she’s ready, moving with me, that smile lighting up her face.

“You know,” I say, pulling her close, “you’re devastating when you smile.”

“Ryewood—”

“Truly. It’s a problem. I can’t think straight.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile widens. “You never think straight.”

“Only around you.” I dip her without warning, catching her gasp before pulling her back up. “See? Devastating.”

“You’re one to talk.” She says it before she can stop herself, then drops her gaze like she’s embarrassed, and, stones, she has no idea what that does to me.