Page 28

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LIORA

H eat.

It coils inside me, thick and unbearable.

I should be exhausted. I should be sleeping.

But I can’t.

Not when my skin burns like this. Not when my veins feel too full, too alive, too much.

And it’s his fault.

Dain.

I feel him before I see him, his presence pressing against my senses, dark and suffocating, inescapable.

I squeeze my eyes close. I try to pretend I don’t hear the shift of his weight in the doorway, don’t feel the way the air itself thickens around us, don’t acknowledge the pulse at the center of my body that only reacts to him.

But pretending is impossible when my heart stutters the moment he moves closer.

I don’t look at him.

I won’t.

But that doesn’t stop my body from reacting, my breath from hitching, my fingers from gripping the sheet tighter as if it will somehow ground me against the storm that is him.

Silence stretches between us, electric and unbearable.

The bed dips.

A shudder runs through me, hot and violent.

I should turn away. I should put as much distance as possible between us.

Instead, I stay still.

My breath is too quick, my pulse too loud. I feel exposed, hyper-aware of every inch of bare skin that the thin sheet can’t hide.

His fingers.

A single touch. A whisper of warmth against my cheek.

I break.

My eyes snap open, locking onto his under the glow of moonlight filtering through the broken walls.

Gods help me.

He looks like something I should be terrified of.

Golden eyes burn through the darkness, molten and unreadable. His features are sharp, carved from something more dangerous than stone, his lips slightly parted as if he’s fighting something inside himself.

He wants me.

I see it. I feel it. It should terrify me.

But it doesn’t.

It should make me push him away.

But I don’t.

I do the opposite.

I move closer. It’s reckless. Stupid. Insane.

But the second I press against him, the moment my skin brushes his, everything changes.

A sharp inhale, a sudden stillness.

Suddeny, fire.

His hand grips my waist, hard enough to bruise. His breath is hot against my jaw, his body scorching where it presses against mine.

All of a sudden. He's everywhere.

His scent invades my senses, dark and intoxicating. His body is too solid, too real, too consuming.

A low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my own.

I should be afraid.

I should be thinking.

But there’s no space for thought, no air between us, nothing but the crushing weight of want.

His fingers slide over my ribs, trailing fire in their wake. My breath stutters, a sound escaping me that I don’t recognize, a plea, a challenge, a surrender.

His lips are on mine.

The world tilts.

I don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s him, dragging me against him, crushing me beneath his body.

Or maybe it’s me, pulling him down, desperate to close the space between us.

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that it happens. The first press of his mouth is pure destruction.

A claiming.

A battle.

It is nothing soft, nothing patient, just teeth and heat and a hunger too long denied. I gasp against him, and he takes advantage.

His tongue sweeps against mine, demanding.

My fingers dig into his back, nails scraping over muscle, over scars I don’t understand, over something ancient and untamed.

He shudders.

It’s worse.

He presses me down, caging me beneath him. The heat of his body melts into mine, his weight stealing my breath, stealing my sense.

I am drowning.

Not in fear. Not in magic.

In him.

His teeth graze my jaw, my throat, my pulse.

I arch beneath him, and he groans, a sound so raw and unguarded that it makes something deep inside me tighten, coil, burn.

His hands are everywhere, gripping my waist, tracing my ribs, delving lower.

I should stop him.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

This is something else.

Something more. Something that feels like fate.

Like a memory I can’t place.

Like something I lost a long, long time ago.

It terrifies me.

Not enough to stop. Not enough to pull away.

But enough to want more.

I break the kiss first, gasping.

His lips hover over mine, breath hot, ragged, unsteady.

His grip on me tightens. I expect him to take.

To finish this.

To ruin me.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he wrenches himself away, as if touching me any longer will burn him alive.

He curses, dragging a shaking hand through his hair, refusing to meet my eyes.

I don’t move.

I don’t breathe as I can still feel him.

Still taste him.

Still ache for him.

I swallow hard, my lips tingling, my body on fire.

“What are you doing?” My voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

He just shakes his head, a snarl curling his lips.

“This is a mistake.” His voice is rough, ragged, dangerous.

I stare at him, pulse pounding in my ears.

A mistake.

He says it like he believes it. Everytime.

Like he thinks this means nothing.

Like he isn’t affected the same way I am.

I should argue. Perhaps demand answers.

But I don’t because I don’t trust my voice.

If I speak, I might admit the truth.

That I don’t want this to be a mistake.

That I want him. That I have never wanted anything more.

But it doesn’t matter because before I can say a word, before I can breathe, he turns away.

He leaves, leaving me alone with the wreckage of what we just did.