Page 158 of Feralheart

We were a disaster.

Joy poured through our bond, pure and uncomplicated in a way I couldn’t remember feeling. Selira had found something she’d been searching for, and it had found her back. No politics or impossibility or class divides. Just adoration.

His wants mine and mine wants his, she said. Simple.

Nothing about this was simple. But for her, maybe it was.

Fenian finished, and I had to admit, the wounds felt better. He reached out to grab the cover, starting to screw it back on.

I held out my hand, palm up, the glowing lines exposed. “Give that to me.”

“Did I miss a spot?”

Now he sounded sly.

“I’ll do you.”

“Do exactly what to me?”

The air charged between us, and all I could think of was his mouth on mine when we passed the pearl. We hadn’t been kissing.

Not too much, that is.

“I’ll care for your wounds,” I said, still too wispy. “Nothing else.”

“You’re sure about that?”

He’d read my thoughts, so he knew exactly what I’d been thinking about doing with him for far too long. How in the world was I going to sleep tonight? The moment my control relaxed, I’d feel his longing.

My fingers trembled as I poked my fingertip into the jar.

“Take off your tunic,” I said.

He frowned before doing what I asked, no tease coming along with it.

I swallowed and tried to ignore all his muscles just…hanging out, waiting for me to touch them. He had broad shoulders. A solid chest. And a ripcord abdomen.

What I could see of it, that is. Above his pants.

“You’re staring,” he whispered, the air from his words brushing across my face.

“I’m not. I’m helping you.”

“Ah. Helping.”

I’d swear I heard humor in his voice.

I finished with his chest and dabbed salve on a shoulder wound, trying to remain clinical. But my magic had other ideas. Heat poured from my palms into his skin, and I felt the exact moment he registered what was happening.

His hand caught my wrist. Holding.

The magical connection had faded, but I didn’t need it anymore. I could read him in the way his fingers trembled and the jerk of his throat when he swallowed.

“Your magic responds to intent, doesn’t it?” he asked softly.

I couldn’t answer, because he was right, and now my intent was tangled up in how close he was, how his pulse jumped under my fingers, and how badly I wanted to⁠—

“There.” I jerked my hand back, nearly dropping the jar. “You’re done.”