Page 75 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

FLAMES

We’re on Moon Isle again. Isla is quiet, but I don’t miss the pain in her eyes, and the serious set of her jaw.

She’s worried about her friend. Of course she is.

I’m worried too. The Starling is still alive .

.. but if the Moonlings can’t find a cure for this dark enchantment, one of the Lightlark realms will fall.

And if Cleo is the one who attacked her ... perhaps searching for a cure is fruitless.

We walk in silence, both lost in our thoughts. Both knowing what’s at stake.

We stop in front of a single tower. It’s the only visible part of a castle buried beneath the snow.

No one has entered in centuries. And lived, that is. Nightshade creatures have made a home inside of it, beasts with nails like knives and fins like ribbons. It is a dangerous place. One I had hoped to avoid.

Now, it might be our salvation.

We climb through a window in the tower, then descend staircase after staircase until we reach an entire floor submerged in water. Here. This is the second to last place the heart could be on Moon Isle—a place where darkness meets light.

I begin mindlessly removing my clothing, and Isla whirls around, eyes wide. Horrified?

“What are you doing?” she demands.

Isn’t it obvious? “There are creatures in that water that won’t be easy to face. I don’t need to be weighed down or give them something to choke me with.”

I take my cape off next. Then, my shirt. The cold air hits my skin, and I tense. I can feel her gaze on me. I slowly turn to find her staring ... at my chest. I swallow. Is she disgusted by the gray? By the fact that I’m slowly but surely dying?

“I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of bodies before,” I say flatly, under her increasingly sharpened notice.

She swallows. “Of course I have.”

Lie .

I blink. Surprise keeps me rooted in place.

I told her my flair. She must realize I know she’s lying. Still, her head is held high, her expression filled with unyielding confidence.

It almost makes me laugh. Stubborn Wildling. Lying Wildling.

How far will she commit to this lie? How long can she lie with a straight face? I step forward and tilt my head at her. “Tell me, Wildling ... how many people have you been with?”

Her cheeks flush, and I resist the urge to smile.

“What kind of question is that?” she demands, but that didn’t answer my question . She’s avoiding it.

The truth. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from her. That’s all I’ve ever given her. It’s wrong, but if she won’t give it to me outright, I want to pull it out of her, word by word. “A curious one.” I shrug. “I’ve been with many women. It’s not something I deny.”

A long time ago , I don’t say. So long ago, I don’t remember their faces, or their names. I likely wouldn’t recognize them if they were right in front of me.

Not that I ever took the time to study them or know them. It was purely physical, then over, because I was supposed to have learned from my brother’s mistakes.

I was supposed to learn that love could cloud even a great king’s mind.

She sneers at me, breaking me out of my own head. “Well, that must have been a long time ago, judging by how uptight and insufferable you are.”

The corners of my mouth twitch with amusement. “That might be so. But you didn’t answer my question.” My voice takes on an edge. My throat works. Why am I so curious?

“And I won’t.” She glares at me, and in her eyes, I see that spark I’ve come to memorize, that challenge.

Stubborn indeed.

Without breaking my gaze, she unbuttons her cape, and my smile falters. It falls soundlessly to the floor. Without even a moment’s hesitation, she slips off her shirt, revealing the curve of her breasts above her slender waist—

And this is like my dream. Her, undressing before me. Eyes never leaving mine. My throat feels tight. My every nerve is on fire.

Her pants go next, and then she’s standing before me in small, close-fitting shorts and an undershirt that might as well be wet for how closely it hews to her. I’m not breathing.

Fuck .

She shrugs, completely unaware of the fact that I am just a moment away from losing my mind. “It’s just skin,” she says, her breath shallow.

I want to make her breathless in other ways. I want to feel that skin against mine, now, on this floor. Against that wall.

I swallow down my thoughts. “Just skin,” I repeat.

She walks past me, down the steps. I slip the rest of my clothes off, then follow, grateful for the stinging cold of the water.

It is an effort not to look at her, to focus instead on the task at hand. “These waters house ancient, vicious creatures. Be on guard.” I dive into the water and hope it will calm this blazing heat in me.

That body . She has to know what she’s doing to me. Is that it? Is she trying to torture me? If so, it’s working.

I’m so dazed, I barely catch the flash of movement—curls of black, silklike fins. My fist heats, my flames warming even underwater, warning them away. Focus , I think, but I can’t focus at all. My mind keeps bringing me back to Isla, standing there, stripping off her clothing.

I know what my dreams will be filled with tonight, and I feel a flash of guilt.

I am king of Lightlark. I control this island and its people. But I can’t even control my own thoughts.

The heart isn’t here.

I reach the stairs and squint, searching the water for her form. She isn’t back yet. She must still be looking.

Then, I see it. A cloud of crimson. The flash of a tail, racing away.

My chest tenses, my body lurches forward, ready to jump back into the water. But she’s already clawed her way up the steps. She is injured, and bleeding, and I’m seeing red. I kneel beside her, taking in the gash along her side.

Her wound begins to bleed in earnest, and she starts to scream.

I murmur soothing words, my voice softer than I’ve ever heard it, trying anything to calm her down. I know it hurts, love , I think.

She lies back on the cold stone, shivering.

She’s cold . I could make it so she’s never cold again.

I place my hand against her stomach, pouring my heat into her. Then, I use the water and begin to close the wound. It’s a slow, painful process. She winces, and I make another sound, hoping it helps, at least a little.

My fingers trace the injury, her blood hot beneath my hand.

Our gazes lock—

And she doesn’t drop her eyes. We’re just inches apart, and for once ... it feels like she’s really looking at me , perhaps a fraction of the way I’ve looked at her for months.

Her hand covers mine and I flinch. I wasn’t expecting her to touch me. I didn’t expect her touch to be so light, so gentle. She presses her hand against mine, and we both cover her wound.

We don’t look away. Neither of us.

We stare and stare, touching each other, and it feels different from the thorns, and from when she helped me in the cave.

It feels like that dream. When she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

The air between us is charged, and she is still staring at me, as if I could possibly be worthy of her notice .

The wound is healed, but I keep my hand there far longer than necessary, suddenly greedy and wanting every moment to last a little longer, with those green eyes trained on me.

With those lips parted, like she could possibly want me to part them further with my tongue.

My knuckles trail down her ribs, grazing the edges of the wound. My fingers linger slightly, but she doesn’t make a move, even though she has to know I’m done healing her. She has to know we’ve been staring at each other for far too long.

“Finished,” I say, knowing this is wrong. Knowing we shouldn’t be doing this.

I remove my hand, and she immediately shivers at the loss of heat. I touch her knee—a more innocent place, I think—to heat her once more.

“Did you find it?” she asks, breathless.

Yes, I think I did . It was there all along. Just frozen. Just ... waiting.

But she’s not talking about my heart. She’s talking about another one.

“No. It wasn’t there.”

Which means there’s only one last place to look.