Immortal Consequences(121)

“Oh, I have one.” Spots of color spread over his cheeks. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her cheek. The softest touch. Agonizingly brief. And then he pulled back and whispered, “But if I’m being completely honest with you…it’s hanging on by a thread.”

“Good.”

His hand caressed her waist before rising, gently gliding onto her shoulder, not stopping until his fingers found their way below her chin. He tilted her head back, the tip of his nose brushing against hers.

“Why is that a good thing?”

“Because…” Wren arched toward him. “Threads can break.”

And that was all the encouragement he needed.

His lips crashed against hers before she could speak another word. There was no gentle introduction. No hesitance on either of their parts. Just an overwhelming desperation to feel one another, to be closer, to drink each other in with an unabashed eagerness that would normally set the two of them on edge.

Wren found herself collapsing into him, her arms tightening around his neck. August held her steady, hands hungry and desperate to cover every inch of her body—her neck, her waist, the small of her back. A small moan fluttered from his lips, and it was enough to make her whimper, enough to make her lose herself completely.

The temperature shifted in the room as August slid back onto his feet, pushing her backward. He guided her toward the bed, neither of them breaking contact, their lips locked with every step. He set her down gently, placing her on the mattress, brushing her hair away from her face with his open palm.

For a moment, he pulled away, eyes searching hers.

“Is this okay—”

“Yes,” Wren interjected, blushing at the strain in her voice. “Is this…are you sure this is what you want?”

August dipped his face back down, pressing his lips against hers.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he groaned against her mouth. “How desperately I need you? How hopelessly I am yours?”

Wren slid her hands over his chest, her palms burning against his skin, and pulled his mouth back onto hers. Crossing the line between them felt like sprinting off the edge of a cliff, like falling straight through the air and savoring the inevitable destruction waiting for her at the bottom.

His eyes raked over her face, searching for something.

“Wren.” Her name slipped from his lips like a desperate prayer. “Are you sure?”

Was she sure she wanted this? Of course. She’d always known, despite everything, that her connection with August was something she could never run from. They had become each other’s salvation. Fated souls destined to collide. But she also knew it wasn’t smart. That she was opening herself up to the possibility of heartbreak. Of finding something dangerously close to hope, only to have it shatter tomorrow at the end of the last trial.

She wanted him in ways she didn’t quite understand. In ways that terrified her.

She knew he must be feeling the same thing. Confronted with the same hesitance. She saw it reflected in his eyes. That desperation to close the space between them, marred by the fear that it might be the last time.

But in the end, the answer was easy.

Wren laced her fingers through his, pulling him closer. She pressed a kiss against his neck, reveling in the way he wilted against her touch. When he looked back down at her, she saw adoration reflected in his eyes. Divinity.

I’m sure. Wren let the words flow into his mind without restraint.

And for the first time since Wren had spotted August sulking down the halls of Blackwood Academy, neither of them fought to fill the space between them with words. Neither of them challenged the other with snarky remarks, desperate to outwit one another.

For once, they were silent. Their bodies communing under the silver glow of night.

* * *

Wren woke up hours later, the taste of August’s lips still lingering on her mouth, the feeling of his hands still burned into her skin. But when her eyelids fluttered open, hand reaching out toward him, there was nothing there.

Only a cold, empty bed.

She wasn’t surprised. She had expected him to leave. He wasn’t one to face his emotions, and the pain of their losing one another was probably too much for him to bear. She didn’t take it personally.

If the tables had been turned—she would have done the same thing.

But once she was awake, she couldn’t fall back asleep. It was more than just the memories of August. There was something missing. The pieces had been revealed to them, the truth of the Decennial an unwelcome burden she now carried with every breath. But none of that explained how Louise had been able to access shadow magic. None of that answered the questions they had been plagued with for the past week.

Wren snatched her coat from her nightstand, slipping it on as she strode out of her room and made her way out of Pettyworth. The impenetrable fog slithered around her limbs like the featherlight touch of a ghost, clouding her vision and disorienting her senses. Her mind was a scrambled mess of desperation, but even so, she knew exactly where to go, her feet moving steadily beneath her.

Litterman House loomed in front of her, windows completely devoid of light. It was like looking into the carcass of a beast. She shivered, approaching the double doors. When she placed her hand upon the doorknob, she realized that the wards had been shut off. Strange. The protective wards were always working during the night, preventing students from other Houses from entering without a chaperone.