Page 59 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Every time the moon passes behind the clouds, the water feels impossibly colder, to the point of blinding pain.

After a few times of this, Duke catches on.

Instead of trying to tug me forward, he waits patiently until I can move again.

We trudge along through water that’s sometimes ankle-deep, other times knee-high, and the cloud cover thickens. We spend more time paused than moving.

When the night swallows us, Duke pulls me close. He runs my hands up and down his arms, presses my cheek to his chest, slides my arms around his waist.

I wrap his arms around my shoulders in return.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark, not like I am of storms. Something about the sensation of water sizzling against his skin like acid pings at the back of my brain, like I should know why.

The longer we stop and start and stop and start and stop and start, the more it seems like Duke’s struggling as much as I am.

I should be hopeful that this invisible resistance means we’re getting closer to our intended goal. Instead, I’m increasingly frustrated with how long this is taking. We should’ve reached the bridge by now.

I don’t know how he senses my plummeting mood, but when the moon disappears—a-fucking-gain—Duke pulls his hand to my boob and prompts me to squeeze. I can almost hear him snickering in my head, hear him cajoling me, teasing me about my built-in stress balls.

We wait for a small eternity in total darkness.

Duke pulls his free hand to my other breast, then makes several quick and slow squeezing movements of my hands overtop his.

Is he trying to use Morse code on my tits?

My chest shakes with silent laughter, like he’s delighted to finally have an advantage.

He knows something that I don’t.

The moon reappears, but my body is wearing out. After the blood loss yesterday while on my period, it’s no damn wonder. I use his strength to carefully pull him along, lifting my smaller body around the larger boulders.

By the time we’re swaddled in night again, I feel him panting next to me. I pull my body close this time, cupping his big hands around my jaw. He’s so tall that I have to lean down to press our lips together.

My mouth opens easily to his searching tongue. The kiss is searing, energizing like it was in Wallace’s pocket realm. The pain of the burning water fades away until it’s a pleasant, tickling warmth against his skin.

It’s not the kind of power exchange that Wallace expected between us, but it helps.

I smile against my mouth, and our tongues battle for dominance while we wait out the clouds. He smiles, too. Our warm breath mingles together, a stark counterpoint to the cold creek water.

Even after the moon reappears, we don’t let go. We spend a few more precious minutes to rest, to cling to each other like we’re silently saying goodbye. Duke shakes my head against his chest and squeezes my arms around his waist a little tighter.

A sob rattles around in his throat, but I stuff it down.

We’re so close. We can’t break now.

At the next shower of light, we break apart. We move forward, slowly but steadily. Hands grasping, arms reaching, feet sure against the slick rocks.

Around the next bend, the bridge comes into view in the distance. Silvery moonlight bathes the rickety wood in an ethereal glow.

I almost gasp at the sight.

It’s so beautiful, and so sad.

This thing that loving, dedicated human hands toiled to build has been abandoned to the whims of time.

Nature has done its best to reclaim this stolen piece of its kingdom.

Vines wrap around the guardrails. Water rushes around the pillars, a continuous assault against the wood that was taken from the forest to erect something that wasn’t always here.

Duke squeezes his hand sharply to get my attention. He makes several gestures that serve as a silent reminder of what we need to do .

Find a deep enough pool to completely submerge ourselves, wash each other in the freezing water thoroughly, drink as much as we can.

The instructions regarding Unspoken Water in the frail, timeworn book that Hope found were vague at best. We’re going to cover all possible bases now that we’re here.

I swallow thickly and nod. The clouds stay away long enough for us to reach the bridge. We’ll repeat our ritual three times—on this side of the bridge, directly beneath it, and once again on the other side.

When we find a suitably deep pool on the near side, I gesture toward Duke.

He nods, then he smiles, like he’s duly impressed that we’ve gone from sworn enemies to people who are close enough to have an entirely silent conversation in only a month.

Such a small span in a lifetime, and yet an eternity has passed.

We’ve both experienced enough loss to understand how fickle time is for us all.

With our fingers tightly woven, we submerge ourselves fully at the same time. No words, no gestures, just an instinct that whatever we do from now on, we must do together.

We break the surface and silently gasp for air together.

We dip down low enough to drink together, keeping our hands locked.

We use our free hands to traverse every plane and valley of each other’s bodies.

Each touch conveys silent words that we don’t dare say even telepathically.

We seal the last promise we might ever make to each other with an achingly tender kiss.

The press of our lips isn’t lustful. It’s not frantic. There’s no nightmare to chase away. No new spell that we’re trying to break.

We’re creating something now. Casting a different sort of spell.

I feel that clicking in my chest again, like I’ve been thrust back in time to that moment when he first stood before me.

Even through my closed lids, the flash of light is too bright to miss. The shockwave ripples through me next. Then the deafening boom of thunder .

He gasps and pulls away first.

His handsome, rugged face is a study in awestruck agony when I peel my eyes open. His brow pulled low, a sheen of tears brightening his dark eyes, his mouth hanging open in wonder.

He glides his palm along my cheek and says one word.

Gingersnap.