Page 46 of Bonds of Starfall

The pools of grey in her eyes darkened. "Kit," she breathed. Her fingers flexed against his thigh. His palm trembled as he cupped her cheek, every nerve ending lit with hunger and guilt.He tilted her face up like it was the last time he ever would—because maybe it was. "We shouldn’t. You’re my—my brother."

But she made no move to push him away.

Kit couldn’t take it anymore. The ache of remembrance.

In the darkness of her bedroom, for the first time since they were kids forced by a trivial dare, Kit pressed his lips to hers, a ghost-like brush, not even a full kiss.

She sighed against his mouth as he leaned over her. He pulled away, too soon. He felt like he could have a thousand years, a thousand lives, with her, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Kit pressed his forehead against hers, just existing with her, clinging to this small, fleeting moment in a sea of time.

"I love you, Rin," he said softly.

Her eyes searched his. "As a friend? As a sister?" she murmured.

He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press him.

Eventually, she fell asleep, the pain reliever coursing through her veins, and Kit hoped that when she woke up, she would think it had all been a dream.

But he had never been that lucky.

Rin couldn’t lookat Kit the same way, knowing what his lips tasted like now. Even if it had been just that—a taste.

The kiss they had both stolen when they were younger had been swift and slightly messy, definitely awkward, as their peers teased them. Nothing like the kiss he had given her two days ago, while she had been under him, on her bed…

Her lips tingled with the memory of it.

And her gut clenched with the utter wrongness of it. He was her adoptive brother; he could never be anything more—even if,in the darkest, most quiet hours of the night, she found herself staring up at the ceiling, tracing the stitching in her fluttering canopy and wondering.

Wondering whatmorecould be like with him, wondering if the butterflies she felt in her stomach whenever she was around him would ever abate. She doubted it. They only grew with every passing day, like her body was begging for him.

Rin’s hands paused on the mug, hovering by the cabinet as she stared at nothing.

ShewantedKit. The startling clarity of it nearly made her stagger backward, and her fingers tightened on the handle of the mug so it wouldn’t slip from her suddenly limp fingertips.

Her bruised chest ached with each movement, and she braced a hand on the kitchen counter by her hip, feeling the cool marble against her palm, grounding her. Her tangled white hair fell over her shoulder—she hadn’t bothered with brushing it, knowing she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house for the next few days as she recovered. Kit was insistent on seeing her well, as was Lucien.

The window above the kitchen sink let in the flickering light of early evening. Shadows mingled, playing tricks on her mind.

Staring out at the window and the quaint, perfectly manicured yard, she saw thick trees, a small flower bed with trimmed hedges that kept the entirety of the yard encased in privacy, along with the high stone fence enclosing the property.

Kit’s parents spared no expense in their house; they certainly had the funds for it. She had never wanted for anything in five years of being here, except the one thing she knew she could never, ever be granted—her family back. And, maybe, a small part of herself whispered that she wanted Kit, too.

Among the deep shadows at the back edge of the house, she saw it.

A breathless gasp escaped her.

The mug finally slipped from her shaking hands, shattering on the kitchen counter, glass pieces scattering about the floor. In the aftermath, her ears rang, but she merely stared out at the trees, the perfectly cut lawn, and the bed of flowers?—

Stared at a shadowed figure.

It shifted, wavering in the evening light as the sun dipped below the skyline and the Stars began to twinkle overhead in the sky, made of dim blue and blooming purple.

"It’s you," she breathed, staring out the kitchen window at the shadow. "You’re here. You came back. Is this—is this real?" Her words were tremulous with shock.

The shadow rippled, the shape of a hand rising from the mass of being, held out, as ifreachingfor her. The sight of it, faceless, near formless, made her feel such deep yearning and pain that she nearly grew ill. Bile rose in the back of her throat, her head pounded, as if something was desperate to escape, desperate to be known.

It was the shape of a man, shifting like shadows, crafted entirely of darkness.