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“Then you’re a dumbass,” I shoot back. Closing my eyes, I force the power back into its hole, but it takes nearly all of my energy to do so, and I sway on my feet.
Before I can reach out and steady myself on the back of Tarnley’s couch, his hands are on my waist, fingers painlessly digging into my flesh. The contact heats my blood, and my pulse hammers.
For the briefest of moments, I’m struck immobile as I stare up into his eyes. Tarnley dips his head, and my body heats, lust or whatever this is between us, overtaking every one of my senses. Even as I know, deep in my bones, that this is a shit idea, I can’t move.
His lips brush against my cheek, the stubble on his face scraping deliciously against my jaw. I close my eyes and tilt my head, feeling his hot breath on my throat. “You cannot tell me that everything you feel—everything we both feel—isn’t real.”
“It is real,” I reply, breathlessly. “It’s just manufactured by the bond.”
He pulls back too soon, leaving me cold and alone. “It’s fine if you don’t want to admit it, Bronywyn, but don’t cheapen what I feel by saying I’m too stupid to realize what’s real and what’s fiction.” At that, he turns on his heel. “I’ll text you the address and meet you there.”
I wince as the door slams. A tear falls from my eye, slipping down my cheek as I wrap my arms around myself.
Before all of this happened.
Before the shadow magic rooted in my body.
Before it attacked my soul.
I might have just said fuck it and given in. I’ve come closer than Tarnley even realizes, a handful of times even walking into his pub for the sole purpose of giving into what I know we both want—even if it’s not completely real.
It just never seemed like the right time before, and the very thought that I’ve completely run out of time altogether, that I can’t go to him now—not when the voice in my head wants me to destroy him—it’s killing me a hell of a lot faster than the darkness.
