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He would pretend that he wasn’t a Saint and that she was mortal as well. Would pretend that this could happen, even if only for a couple minutes more, and indulge in something he wanted terribly. Because he deserved that. In all his time on the earth and off of it, he deserved something that made him feelaliveagain.

West couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that.

Which was why he said what he did.

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” Her lips fell open and he knelt on the bed before her, taking her crimson face into his hands. It was adorable, how one moment she could take down her opponents in the ring single handedly, and yet the next his sheer compliment could have her blushing like a dainty maiden.

Innocence and violence, all tangled into one.

He loved it.

“Is that alright?” West asked, not sure if he could wait to hear an answer, or what he would do if she denied him. One taste, that’s all it had taken and now he wanted more. He wanted it all. But letting her have it all, letting him have all of her, it would destroy him in the end.

Just another kiss, he told himself. Then he’d stop and pull away. He’d let her live her life without him in that regard and they both would live.

“Yes. Saints be damned, yes.” Crimson panted and tuggedhim back to her by the collar of his shirt.

“Good.” He filled the distance and closed her mouth with his, inhaling deeply as she filled his senses.

His mouth slammed back down on hers and she was lost, moaning with every clash of his teeth, his tongue, his lips.

West knew this was a mistake.

And yet he couldn’t pull away.

He never wanted to.

Thirty Three

He wanted to touch her. More than anything in the world and it was a sizzling sensation that felt as though the moon sliced through him with its wickedly honed edge. It rocked back and forth after he set her down and her chest heaved. Her luscious chest, which he had no clue how she managed to tuck it away in her fighting leathers as Red Lyric. He could feel the way her breasts pebbled and poked through the thin material of her shirt as his lips found hers over and over again.

West was fucked.

Utterly fucked.

Because he’d spent the lastthirty minuteskissing her in every imaginable way, until they were both panting and he needed to take a break before he truly did something regrettable. Kissing was one thing, but he’d already told her that it could never just be sex with her. And with the way she looked at him, hungrily, he’d barely been able to step out of the room.

Touching her too, it wouldn’t be crossing the line because he wouldn’t be inside her fully, only teasing it. It was more liketoeing the line, but even that was a dangerous thing. A tight leash that he barely had control over.

West liked to think that he had perfect control when it came to all things but Crimson Bard was slowly making him question himself. Making him reconsider his own vows, his own morals and turning them into dust. The very last thing he wanted to do was remove her from his life entirely, but he couldn’t step a single toe into the dangerous game that they were playing.

He needed answers.

Needed to know if there was a way that was possible to turn her into a full Saint.

Because he was starting to fall for her and if he allowed himself to tumble into that pit of want and desire, then there was no returning from it. And perhaps a mortal life wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but he wouldn’t get to live like a mortal. Instead he would stay young and handsome whilst she aged beautifully.

West knew that if he allowed himself to fall in love with her, that he would love her until the end of her time, regardless of how her mortal shell looked. But he didn’t dare to venture down that road until he had answers.

Until then, he wouldn’t touch her.

Kissing her was a mistake and yet he’d succumbed to it.

Crimson allowed him to pull away, to enter his bathing room and he remained there until he heard her shuffle out of his bed,theirbed if he was being honest and exit the room. To visit her brother in the healing wards, most likely. And when he was sure she left, there was no trace of her to be found, West allowed himself another mistake.

He slowly popped the buttons on his uniform trousers, one at a time. Each one followed with the bob of his throat,contemplating abandoning his actions before he truly began. But then his shirt was tugged up, the panels of his toned torso shown in the oval mirror above the sink and he knew there was no turning back now.