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This was too much.
The power within me flared, unbidden. A panic, a response, a wild thing.
But Arran caught my chin with one hand. The other landed on my waist, pulling me tight against him. Somehow, over the roaring in my ears, I was able to make out his words—
“We belong to each other.”
I felt them, the words he said and the ones he didn’t. They washed over me, filled me, comforted me even as they scared the hell out of me.
Arran didn’t run.
He wasn’t afraid, I realized.
He knew what was in his own heart. He knew I couldn’t bear to hear it. But he wasn’t afraid of it. He wasn’t afraid of me.
He lowered his lips to mine, brushing our mouths together in a touch so light, it might have been a summer breeze gone amiss. So soft, so tender. A gentle declaration that was deeper than words.
His tongue caressed my bottom lip, then my top. His mouth molded to mine, easing my lips apart not for a deep kiss but for a warm and soft one. Unlike any we’d ever shared. A kiss of comfort, a kiss of promise. Two souls, connected by this tentative bridge.
His hands didn’t quest, didn’t try to claim my body. He simply held me on that windswept cliff edge, making love to my mouth in a way that the Brutal Prince shouldn’t have been capable of.
Each beat of my heart was a phrase. Repeated again and again. As if my soul was accustoming itself. Until I was wrapping myself in the knowledge and letting it soothe me, even at the same time as it scared me.
Arran loves me. Arran loves me. Arran loves me.
My mate loves me.
36
ARRAN
We were being followed.
In Eldermist, I’d been able to dismiss the feeling. There were hundreds of humans in the town, all openly gawking at us.
But this was different.
It was careful and heavy. Purposeful.
Whoever—or whatever—was watching us, it kept its distance. It stayed downwind. It was very careful not to get caught.
But I could sense it when we sat around the campfire, the back of my neck prickling.
A few times, my beast tried to chase it down. But I’d lose the scent. That was only possible through magic. A wind-wielder, maybe.
I didn’t tell Veyka.
Maybe that was a mistake.
She said she trusted me. I had to believe it.
We’d promised each other truth. Was it lying, to keep this from her?
Maybe.
I’d mentioned it when we were in Eldermist. Her senses were as keen as mine, though honed by a different sort of danger. I had to trust her—trust that if danger came for her, she’d be able to fight it.
She’d called me a skoupuma mother. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
