Page 62 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)
“Can I touch you?” he asked thickly, his hand frozen in that empty space between them. “Please?”
He…hadn’t, she realized. He’d tried when she was lost in her panic, but he hadn’t reached for her again, not after she’d jolted away from him.
Slowly, Aya reached out with a trembling hand, the pads of her fingers skimming against his own. They traced down rough skin, calloused from his sword, and stopped when they reached his palm.
Agony ripped through her as she felt the raised skin of his scar, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
No matter how far the fall.
But he didn’t know. He didn’t know how far that fall really was, because if he had, he never would have—
Will’s fingers closed around hers, and he pulled her into his arms.
“You are everything to me,” he breathed against her ear, the tenor in his voice betraying his composure. “Everything.”
Aya choked on a sob as his words settled in the mess of her shattered heart. He pulled her closer, so that there was not a breath of space between them. She could feel the way his heart hammered beneath where her head pressed to his chest.
“I’ve got you,” Will murmured. “Let it go, Aya.”
She could do nothing but comply.
Those weeks rose up like a tidal wave, crashing over her with brutal force.
Her knees buckled as she sobbed, but Will held her fast, a safe harbor in the midst of the brutal storm of her grief.
His whispered murmurs kept her rooted in the room, even as her tears carved out pieces of her as they spilled down her cheeks.
It was different from the stabbing pain that had accompanied the bits they’d forcibly wrenched from her. This was a dull ache that spread through her slowly, touching those same stinging places and pulling the pain from them.
She wasn’t sure how long it was before her sobs subsided into short, punched attempts to breathe, and then into silent tears that flowed steadily. Her fingers dug into the fabric of Will’s vest, her heart keeping time with his as she let his warmth envelop her.
There was so much they needed to discuss, so many questions she wanted the answers to. But they all faded behind a single confession that demanded to be free.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Will’s body tensed beneath her, but he pressed a long, lingering kiss to the side of her head, his exhale long and forced, as if he were trying to find his bearings, too.
“I made you a promise,” he replied.
And it was so simple, so Will , that it had another onslaught of tears rushing down her face as she slowly peeled herself off of him.
She blinked up at him, her pulse fluttering as those gray eyes met hers, and scanned the panes of his face greedily, her mind desperate to fill in the spaces time and torture had rendered incomplete.
The slope of his nose.
The tiny scar on the right underside of his jaw.
The way his wet lashes brushed his cheek and tangled when he blinked.
She reached for his hand, her thumb pressing into the mark of their oath, as if it could ground her the way hers once had.
“She took it,” Aya whispered. “She healed my palm before she attacked Sitya.”
She ducked her head, her eyes fixed on that thin line of his palm.
But Will cupped her chin and gently tilted it up, encouraging her to meet his gaze.
He waited until she did, and then, slowly, he took her hand, her fingertips still lingering on his scar, and pressed it to his chest, right over his heart.
“Our promises to each other live here,” he assured her, his hand pressing in ever so slightly against hers. “I do not need a symbol to know what we mean to each other. Our love goes far beyond scars.”
His throat bobbed as he curled his fingers around hers, a few stray tears following the tracks of those he’d already shed.
“I would have traded anything to hold you again,” he said. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You will find I have little complaint now that I can do just that.”
Aya gripped the edges of his vest, pulling him in as she pushed onto her toes. “I love you,” she whispered into the space between them.
Will cupped her cheek, the arm around her waist tightening as he leaned in. “You’re everything,” he replied. And then his lips were on hers, soft and heartbreakingly gentle, but every bit a reclaiming.
She had thought she would never have this again: the warm press of Will’s lips, the swipe of his tongue, the feel of his hand spanning the dip in her back.
A desperate noise snagged in her throat, her hands trembling as they slid over his shoulders.
He smiled against her lips as he pulled away.
Aya immediately resented the distance, but he didn’t go far.
His fingers tangled in her hair as he tilted her head back, his lips warm against the pulse point of her neck.
“Everything,” he repeated, the vibrations sinking into her skin and settling somewhere deep inside of her—somewhere Evie and Gregor and every godsforsaken person who had taken from her could not reach.
Will’s forehead pressed against hers, and Aya’s eyes fluttered shut as she breathed him in. Even beneath the dirt and the grime, Will still smelled like him .
Woodsmoke and spiced honey.
“We should try to clean up,” he murmured as he gently coaxed the tangles from her hair. “And there are people downstairs who would love to see you.”
A soft growl rumbled from beside her before Tyr’s gray head nudged between them.
“And Tyr,” Will added flatly.
Her bonded shot him a reproachful look. Will rolled his eyes, and Aya…
The corner of her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, the expression so foreign that it nearly faded as quickly as it came, something sharp ripping through her chest with it.
Will’s gaze cut to her, his mouth mirroring the soft motion, and there was so much understanding in his eyes that the jagged tear in her chest eased into a dull ache.
His lips pressed against hers, long and lingering, before he pulled away and whispered, one last time, “Everything.”