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Lore tried not to let the hurt show. “Look, Asher... I didn’t know you were on guard at that gate. I didn’t even know you were at the castle! Last time I saw you was weeks ago. I know you’ve broken orders, defected, lost your home, and... and I know you are now on the run. And I know that’s all because of me.”

She wanted to look away, but she owed him this much, at least.

“I’m sure you’re wishing I had never been brought to the castle in the first place, but I lost things too, Asher. The shop, my home, and my entire village is in chaos. I didn’t ask to be born human or to be trapped in Duskmere like a prisoner without simple rights awarded to every other creature in this land. I didn’t have a choice. Going to the castle was never a choice, not really. It was something I had to do if I wanted to stay alive.” She blinked, trying to force the threat of tears away. “I keep expecting to wake up from this horrific nightmare I’m having, but instead, every day I wake up to this.”

She waved her hands to indicate the room, him, the disaster that had become their lives in the last two days.

“And I’m just trying to get back to my people, Asher. Like you and like me, they are just victims of circumstance. They don’t deserve to live like this, and I think—for the first time in my life—I can do something to change things for them. I want to help my people stop surviving and start living.”

Asher remained silent, staring at her.

Suddenly she was sick of this—of all that had been happening to her against her will and of the guilt eating at her insides and hollowing her out. And she decided, just then, that she was especially tired of Asher’s sulking, no matter how justified it may be.

“If you hate me so much, why are you still here?” She was surprised to find that she was shouting, but she didn’t care. “Why not just leave me? You don’t have to be here. I didn’t ask you to be! In fact, you should just leave!” She reached out to shove him. “I don’t need you here just to—”

He caught her wrist before she could shove him, his hand moving faster than her eyes could track. He growled, a low, guttural sound, and pulled her to him as he stood. He grabbed her chin with his other thumb and finger and tipped her head up.

She parted her lips, wanting to continue yelling, but she suddenly forgot how to form words.

His teeth were bared, and his breath came out in quick, uneven pants. They were so close; she could feel the pounding of his heart against her chest and see the flecks of sienna and gold in his black irises. Some quiet part of her whispered,Nowonder they look like molten lava.

She tried to pull back and slip out of his grip to continue yelling at him, but his calloused fingers tightened on her jaw—

And suddenly his mouth was on hers.

Every thought flew out of her head but one:He tastes like blackberries and honey.

His hand was no longer on her chin but wound tightly in her hair, while his other was at her back, pulling her closer. Withoutconscious thought, her own hands tangled in his tunic, flattening against his chest. She slid them up to his jaw and felt his stubble, startled to realize that, for the first time since she’d first seen him in the dining hall weeks ago, he hadn’t shaved.

She needed more of his taste. She grabbed his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled, unable to stop a moan escaping her.

At her moan, he growled again, deepening the kiss. His tongue entered her mouth, tentative at first—then more insistent, hungry.

She was on fire.

It seemed that, like her, that little bit of a taste wasn’t enough. His hand left her hair, and he grabbed her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around his hips, needing this—needing to be closer.

Asher took a step forward and suddenly, she was pressed up against the wall. He deepened the kiss, pressing his hips into her core. She moaned into his mouth as she pressed back into him.

He tore his mouth from hers.

She almost cried out in protest, but his lips were back on her in a moment, tasting her neck. She moaned when he nibbled the sensitive skin there—his sharp canines were quick to find that perfect line between pleasure and pain.

She needed to feel his skin. They weren’t close enough.

She opened her eyes and looked at the bed. But, as if he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts, he stilled, coming to his senses.

She was afraid he would back up and drop her, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into her, pressing his weight against her and nuzzling into her neck and curls, breathing in her scent.

Their breathing was loud and ragged in the silent room.

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft, muffled by her hair. His breath was warm against her neck, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight to her core. He pulled back, just a little, and leaned his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, Lore,” he repeated, clearer this time.

Her name sounded so lovely on his lips.

She started to speak, but he cut her off with the lightest of kisses. “Wait, just let me—” He extricated her legs from around him and set her on her feet, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand—so different from the rough way he’d grabbed her hair only moments before.

Lore wouldn’t mind going back to that roughness, but she managed to keep that thought silent as she let Asher gather his words.