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“Good morning,” she said, snuggling into him.

“What time is it?” he asked, maneuvering her closer, so she was tucked into his side, their bodies fitting perfectly together.

“Around ten.” She kissed his neck, nuzzling into the tender skin just beneath his ear. He felt her smile against his skin. “I don’t remember coming back to bed. Again. Thank you.” She gave him another soft kiss that shot a bolt of heat straight through him.

He pulled her over him and kissed her until they were both lost.

They had so little time left. The Conclave was coming, and with it the possibility of fate.

“Stop thinking,” she murmured against his mouth. Then she deepened the kiss and slid her hand down his body until he could not think at all.

Later, they curled together skin against skin, warm beneath the covers, and watched the light change in the room. The minutes ticked by, one by one, but even the peace of being there with her was not enough to make him forget what lay ahead.

“I can’t lose you,” he told her.

Esta let out a deep sigh and turned to him. “You’re not going to lose me, Harte.”

But he didn’t believe that could be true. He’d ruined everything he’d ever loved—his mother, his brother. He couldn’t let that happen to Esta, too.

When he didn’t immediately respond, she took his face in her hands. “You aren’t going to lose me. I don’t care what that diary said. You aren’t going to hurt me.”

“I know.” He looked into her whiskey-colored eyes and saw the determination there, the fierceness that he’d fallen for almost at once. “I’d die before I’d do anything to hurt you.”

“You aren’t going to die, either.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling softly at her determination. She spoke as though she could take fate and destiny in her hands and bend it to her will. But then, she was Esta. Maybe she could.

“I’ve been thinking,” she told him.

“A dangerous proposition to be sure.”

She smacked him playfully, but then the amusement drained. “We have to consider Nibsy.”

“He’s the last thing I want to think about right now,” he told her, brushing his lips over the tender skin of her neck. He’s the last thing Harte wanted to deal with period.

“Harte, be serious,” she said, trying to pull away. When he didn’t let her go, she let out a not-unsatisfied sigh and allowed him to work his way along her neck, trailing his lips against her jaw and then finally kissing her.

She was breathless and flushed again by the time she managed to unentangle herself. “Seriously, Harte.”

“I don’t want to think about Nibsy,” he repeated.

“But we have to,” she said. This time he let her go, because he knew she was right. They were only delaying the inevitable, and it wasn’t going to help anyone to ignore the fact that Nibsy Lorcan was likely already three steps ahead of them. “He might have the diary here, in this time. If he does, he’s going to be able to predict what we do. We need to do everything we can to stop him.”

What if there’s no way to stop him?

Harte pushed the thought aside. Just because his idea hadn’t worked didn’t mean that another couldn’t. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“We should get the others,” she told him. She was already sitting up, already getting out of the bed.

He rolled on his side and watched her reach for her clothes. He let his eyes take in every inch of her, memorizing the curve of her back. The golden expanse of her skin. He wanted to touch her again. “Do we have to?”

She smiled back at him. “We do.”

“But maybe it could wait.” He was trying for playful, but the words had come out strained.

Esta’s smile faltered. “I don’t think it can.”

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster that traversed the entire room, dark against the dingy white of the paint. “The Conclave is coming too soon,” he told her. “I feel like we have so little time left.”