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Overwhelmed, I pried myself away. Ecstatic, I tilted my head and swooped in again, catching those lush timber lips. I fused my mouth to hers, losing my breath, capitulating.

My kiss did not stop.

26

Fantasy

Holy. Seasons.

We walked in dumbstruck silence back to the treehouses. Only the push of our feet and the random click of a critter filled the quiet. Mist spread itself thin, lazy torchlight defining the route.

Aire’s fingers brushed mine, although his profile stared ahead. I responded in kind, my knuckles sweeping over his, the tension thickening like syrup. I wanted to guzzle this feeling, draining it for all it was worth.

He’d kissed me. Again.

I bit down hard, really hard on my lower lip to stifle a grin. If my mouth moved an inch in the wrong direction, a smile would carve through my face.

Despite that public display on the dance field, this wasn’t the time to flaunt the afterglow. Nicu slumped over Aire’s back, his arms and legs flopping, and his face mashed into the knight’s shoulder. Ale laced Nicu’s breath, a prelude to the monstrous migraine he’d have in the morning.

In a nutshell, he’d had fun—minus the rogue, who’d kept to himself during our return trip. Nicu proved to be an artistic drunk, mumbling a tune aloud. I could tell Aire felt guilty about letting him rebel that far, but with our mouths plastered together, he hadn’t initially noticed.

In the colony, we hiked up a spiral stairway and tarried at the landing. “I shall take him from here,” Aire said, setting Nicu down.

“I’m sssun...sunny,” Nicu insisted, meaning he was fine, when really, he wasn’t.

“No worries. I’ll walk the songbird,” Lyrik offered.

If anything could sober Nicu, that was it. He pushed Lyrik’s palm from his shoulder and snarled, “Stay...away...from me.”

For once, Lyrik had no words, the poison in Nicu’s slur shutting him up. He watched, dumbstruck and desolate as Nicu stumbled down the walkway. Brows slamming together, Lyrik stalked in the opposite direction while muttering to himself.

Aire stole only a second, just a second to cup my jaw. I saw intention there, recalling what he’d promised after kissing me at the bonfire.

This wasn’tGoodnight.

“Come to me later,” he said.

A straightforward but excruciating request. Any second, I might faint.

I leaned into his caress. “Come tome.”

His eyes turned a husky shade of blue. And then he strode after Nicu.

A thousand and one heartbeats later, I paced barefooted in the bungalow, pressing my fingers to my cheeks. A wildfire burned in the hearth, the crackle of logs making me jump.

I’d done this before. But not with him.

I clutched my bust, the nut hiding within the tiny hatch of my chest, out of sight behind the fitted closure.

Don’t let him see your heart.

If he asked, I’d know how to fib. I’d hate myself for it, too.

A gentle knock became the loudest sound in the world. I paused, squeezing the knob. As I twisted open the door, the hinges squeaked.

His head lifted the moment I answered. Aire stood in the shadows, a shaft of moonlight outlining his frame. He’d removed his cloak and scabbards, his narrow waist free of weapons, and he must have wiped the dye from his hair, leaving the golden strands damp. Also, he’d washed up, smelling of soap.

He stepped into the room, into the firelight, while I stepped back. Without looking away, he reached behind him and closed the door, the latch clicking into place.