Page 101

And she doesn’t look back.

Orin straightens, already turning toward the sanctum doors. “We move at first light.”

I linger for a moment longer, waiting for Luna to move. When she finally does, she brushes past me lightly, her fingers grazing my wrist in a way that feels deliberate.

The others move ahead without us, their footsteps fading into the hush of the path winding back toward the village—back to the hollowed-out shell Branwen carved to look like home. I let them go. Let Orin’s deliberate stride and Riven’s watchful silence melt into the distance. Even Silas’s too-loud humming and Elias’s low, cringey muttering fade beneath the thrum of something heavier threading through the night air.

Because she’s here.

Because I’m here.

And I’ve spent too long pretending I don’t want her like I want to burn. She walks beside me, her gaze flicking after the others, like she’s already thinking of how to keep the fragile thing between us from fracturing any further. But her body tells a different story—the tension curled in her shoulders, the weight she carries like she’s forgotten how to let herself breathe.

I slow my stride, let a smirk curl at the corner of my mouth, just loud enough to cut through whatever storm is brewing in her head. “You know,” I murmur, my voice slipping low, almost lazy, “it’s criminal how tightly wound you’ve been lately.”

She flicks her eyes toward me, sharp and assessing, but there’s something else beneath it—something warm. Familiar. I haven’t seen it in weeks.

“Is that so?” she asks, her tone carefully neutral, but I catch the slight arch of her brow.

I hum, deliberate, decadent. “Mm. You’re carrying it in your shoulders. In the way you don’t quite look at anyone except when you’re ready to gut them.”

Her lips twitch, but she bites down on it too fast. She’s trying to keep her distance, but I know her tells. I know her body like I know my own.

I slow again until she’s forced to match my pace, until we’re moving just a little behind the others, far enough back that noone can hear us. “And,” I add, my voice slipping like silk between us, “I’d be a shitty sin if I didn’t offer to… help.”

Her breath hitches, almost imperceptible. She’s trying not to react. But she wants to.

“What kind of help?” she asks carefully, though I can hear the interest tangled in her voice.

I glance sideways at her, let my gaze drag deliberately over the line of her throat, the way her lips part slightly when she asks. “The kind that would make you forget every single fucked-up thing about this place,” I say, voice lower now, heat curling at the edges. “The kind that would leave you boneless.”

Her laugh is soft, involuntary. That’s what I want. That sound. That crack in her armor.

“You’re full of yourself today,” she says.

I make a sound low in my throat. “No, darling. I’m Lust.”

Her eyes flick toward me again, sharper this time, almost challenging. “You’ve been quiet about that lately.”

I shrug, casual, wicked. “Didn’t seem fair, throwing matches at you when everything was already on fire.”

Her throat works, her steps falter for half a second. She’s trying to look ahead, to pretend she doesn’t notice the way my voice curls under her skin like silk rope. But I know better.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, dipping my head slightly, “do you want me to make you forget him?”

That earns me a sharp glance, fire licking behind her eyes, but there’s heat there too. A flicker of something dangerous, something that tastes like yes..

I take another step closer, my shoulder brushing hers deliberately now, heat curling in the space between us like smoke.

“Say the word,” I murmur, voice a razor against her skin. “And I’ll make you forget every single thing weighing you down. Right here. Right now.”

Her pulse jumps in her throat.

She doesn’t say no.

And I know her well enough to know—that’s as good as yes.

“I’ve missed you exactly like this.”