Page 27 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

Panic flares. Nausea roils. But I force myself to look. Force myself not to shrink back at the sight.

For her, I will be fearless.

In my arms, she is an anchor, a steadying presence. Gradually, my pulse slows. The roaring in my ears dims.

The world is small beneath us. Insignificant, compared to what I have in my arms right now.

As my own fear dissipates, hers grows. “I don’t think I like heights,” she says, and, at the same time, I think, I don’t like anything but you .

In that moment, I tell myself I will never be afraid of this again. Both of us can’t be afraid of heights. The need to make her feel comfortable overpowers any remaining shred of terror.

I want her to know she’s safe with me. I want her to know that I would protect her with my life.

I curl forward to rest my chin on the top of her head. “I can portal us anywhere, remember?”

I feel her begin to relax, like I have helped banish her fear, the same way she has for me.

Slowly, she leaves my embrace. She walks to the edge of the basket and looks past it, at the Skyling newland.

Her surprise and fascination make me smile.

“I’ve never—I’ve never been up so high,” she says. She points at a distant mountain range. “I’ve never been on a peak like that. I’ve never seen the world be so ... so small .”

I want to show her the Algid. The peaks there, with snow light as dandelions.

I want to show her the frost-coated villages of my upbringing.

For centuries, whenever I thought of my childhood, I only thought of the bad.

But now ... I remember the pockets of light.

I want to show her everything I once liked.

She reminds me that I wasn’t always so heartless. And that life wasn’t always so cruel. This is where I want to be , I think. Out of the shade of the shadows, and in her radiant light.

Slowly, I step forward, until I’m by her side. Together, we watch the world in peaceful silence. I drown in her happiness; it is intoxicating, addicting. I can’t help but feel some of it myself.

This moment , I think. I’d like to live in this moment for the rest of my life .

Finally, she steps back, and her foot collides with a bottle. She lifts it and inspects the label.

“Skyling wine,” I say, frowning. I tend to avoid it at all costs. “Disgusting.”

That, of course, is anything but a deterrent. She unscrews the bottle and sips it. Then, a burst of happiness.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I sigh. Of course she loves it.

She takes another long sip, and I pluck it out of her hands. I’ve seen many people drink far more than they intended, because of its sugary taste. “You might want to wait a little while before drinking more,” I tell her. “Unless you don’t want to remember the night.”

I remind myself that it’s her choice. I offer the bottle back to her, but she shakes her head.

And, by the emotions blooming from her, I can tell she wants to remember this night as much as I do.

She turns to face me fully and tilts her head to the side. It’s adorable.

“Can I say something honest?”

I blink, startled. I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear whatever she’s about to say. I nod anyway.

“You are the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met.” Is that all?

“And you,” I respond, “are the bane of my existence.” It’s true. She’s a curse. She’s an addiction far sweeter and more dangerous than Skyling wine.

She takes a step toward me. “I was disappointed when I didn’t kill you.”

Her words are at odds with the desire I feel circling us.

I know what she wants. I run my hand up her leg, taking her tiny dress with me. There, strapped to her upper thigh, is a dagger. I tap at it, letting her know I’ve known it was here this entire time, and she gasps. “And I’m disappointed you haven’t tried again.”

As if any blade through my chest would ruin me more than she already has.

She might as well have stabbed me through the heart the first time she met me. I might as well have carved it out myself and handed it to her.

It’s hers.

It’s been hers—along with my mind, and my sanity, and my every waking thought—since the day she stepped inside my castle.

My hand curls around her waist. My lips brush against her neck, lingering at her pulse, which beats wildly beneath my mouth. Her back arches, and she makes a sound I’ve grown to adore, that I’ll never forget, as I begin licking the glitter off her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders.

“I don’t think it’s edible,” she says.

“I don’t care.”

Nothing could possibly be more poisonous than her, yet I’m here, practically begging to lick every inch of her.

Our lips crash together, and my hands are everywhere. I can’t touch enough of her, I can’t hold her close enough. My tongue parts her lips, and she groans into my mouth, the reverberations going straight to where I’m aching. I lift her into the air and rest her on the edge of the basket.

Her eyes fly open, and I feel her panic spike.

“Relax, Hearteater,” I say, though my own breathing is uneven, and not because of the height.

No, it’s the experience of seeing her there, perched on the side of the basket, wind threading through her hair, her wide green eyes fixed on me.

She can’t feel my feelings. She’s oblivious to the torrent of emotions winding through my head and body and very soul as she slowly parts her legs in invitation. I step toward her, settling between them, and—

And I feel like I’m dying. I feel like I’m being reborn. I feel like I’ve been revived, or possibly, like I’ve never truly been alive until this moment.

The heart I locked away for centuries has started beating again. I can feel it.

It’s sitting right in front of me.

She’s my heart.

My hand grips beneath her knee, and I can feel her longing, feel everything. “Portal me to my room,” she commands.

Here it is. The cliff we’ve been skirting, the fall we’ve been avoiding. Because this isn’t just physical. Not for me ... and not for her. I can feel it.

I press her fully to my chest—and push us both over the edge.

There is no room for fear here. Fear of heights, fear of feelings, fear of anything.

She gasps—but she is not afraid. She trusts me .

She opens her mouth, but she doesn’t have time to form a single word before we’re landing on her bed. She’s atop me, straddling me, and I’ve never seen such beauty in my life.

Anger, hot as flames, that I sent us tumbling over. Her eyes are fixed in a glare. But that fury dies away the moment she shifts forward—

And feels every inch of me against her.

Her feelings melt into deep, sweet desire. She moves again, rocking her hips, and I’m at risk of embarrassing myself from that single movement.

She writhes against me, as if desperate for the friction, as if she’s aching as much as I am. Her back arches and she grinds against me harder, her nails scraping against my chest, her shoulders hiking as she gasps.

I laugh darkly beneath her. “The sight of you, on me ...”

Yes, she has well and truly ruined me .

I curve my hands beneath her hips, gripping her ass, and wonder what it would be like to let her continue, let her chase her pleasure, let her do whatever she wants to me.

But—

“Not tonight, Hearteater,” I say. Even two sips of the Skyling wine can cloud her judgment.

When I have her, I want her fully aware of every movement. I want her to remember every single second.

I want the only haze to be the result of how well I’ve pleased her.

“Sleep,” I say, and her irritation is like a dozen daggers pointed in my direction.

I laugh softly and pull her toward me, tucking her into my side. I never used to see the appeal of sleeping next to someone, but I do now. I want her next to me every single moment of every single day, even while we’re dreaming.

“Remember to dream of me,” I tell her, and I wonder if she knows I meant it when I told her she’s in all of mine.