She was a Selenic, the first Eclipse-born to hold such an honor. That had to mean something.
Emory met Keiran’s gaze, full of admiration and awe and something she couldn’t quite place. And here in the water, she finally believed it: that perhaps this sort of magic could indeed bring back the Tides.
She’d find a way to make it work, if only to keep him looking at her the way he did now.
* * *
They emerged shivering against the cold and raced to pull their clothes on. Distant music and laughter drifted to them, students no doubt keeping the fall equinox festivities going. The Selenics didn’t join them. They stayed here by the river, with a spread of blankets and a roaring fire and the bottles of wine and flasks of liquor Virgil had brought for everyone to share.
As the others danced to the music that Lizaveta amplified to ring louder around them, Emory watched Keiran stoke the flames. He caught her looking at him over the fire. Heat pooled in her stomach at the half smile he gave her, a crooked upturn of his lips. He jerked his head in wordless invitation. She followed him without thinking.
They sat in a patch of flattened tall grass a ways down the river. Keiran handed her the bottle he’d snuck and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, legs sprawled in front of him. She felt his eyes on her as she took a sip, acutely aware of the hunger in them. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“You’re staring,” she breathed.
A hint of that dimpled smile again. “I can’t help it. You were stunning tonight, Ains.”
His voice was thick with—was it lust? Affection? He frowned like he was trying to figure it out himself, like whatever it was had taken him by surprise. Emory ducked her head shyly, tucked her still-damp, messy hair behind an ear. Words eluded her. When she handed the bottle back to him, Keiran sat up and reached for her instead.
His hand cupped her cheek, trailed behind her head. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst as his lips brushed hers, ever so soft. It was everything her treacherous heart had dreamed of.
Desire pooled in her stomach. Emory kissed him back, desperate for more. And he obliged her. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t believe this was really happening. The synth’s effect was gone, but his kiss was every bit as electrifying as she imagined it would be, and she never wished it to end.
But Keiran eventually pulled away, fingers caught on her chin, darkened eyes on her mouth.
A delectable shiver ran through her.
“We can head back if you’re cold,” Keiran suggested, eyes still on her lips.
She wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. Not when he looked at her like that, and she understood that he did not mean to return to the fire at all, but to school. Where they’d be alone. Together. “Let’s go.”
They barely made it to the quad before he drew her near again, stopping her beneath the cloisters. His hand trailed lightly up her arm, tilting her chin up with delicate fingers.
“You keep surprising me,” he whispered, brushing aside a strand of her hair with heartbreaking tenderness, brows scrunching slightly as he scanned her face. “It’s more than just your magic. It’s the heart you put into it. It reminds me why we’re doing this in the first place.”
Her knees weakened as he leaned in close. He lifted her hand, pressed it against his neck, and curled her fingers around it in a loose chokehold. “That’s the kind of hold you have on me, Emory Ainsleif.” His breath caressed her face. Beneath her thumb, his pulse was as quick as her own. “And I don’t mind it for a second.”
Emory didn’t know what to make of the way he looked at her. It was like he saw her for all that she was and could become—like he desired her, every single part of her, something she’d had little experience with in her nineteen years, least of all from someone like him.
He looked at her, she realized, the way everyone always looked at Romie. Like she was the most magnetic, important person in his eyes.
She let her hand slide down so that it rested over his heart, this thing he was slowly letting her in on like a secret. She wanted to know more of it.
“You too,” she breathed.
He waited, eyes searching hers. As if asking for permission. Emory nodded. She wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to exactly, but it didn’t matter, not as Keiran’s mouth found hers again, and everything in her soared.
Her hands wove behind his neck, savoring the supple feel of his hair between her fingers. It moved something in him, and when he kissed her again, it was full of intent, an eagerness she responded to in kind. Lips parted and tongues collided. Keiran pressed against her, trapping her between him and the column at her back. He tasted of champagne, heady and sweet and utterly intoxicating.
And just as his lips grazed her neck, drawing a small sound from her throat, the loud creak of a door made them both pull away. At the other end of the cloisters, a student sleepily padded on by, bleary-eyed and oblivious to them—a sleepwalking Dreamer, no doubt.
A breathless laugh slipped past Emory’s lips. Keiran looked as if he wanted to capture the sound, eyes sparking as he drew closer again. She tilted her head up. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb skimming her bottom lip. She couldn’t help but arch toward him, eyes fluttering hungrily to his mouth. It hovered just above hers, made her burn with anticipation as he slid his hand down her neck.
He winced suddenly, frowning down at his hand. The spiral on his wrist glowed faintly silver. His eyes grew distant as he listened to whoever was calling him, then focused on her again. “Artem wants to know how our summons went,” he said with mild annoyance. “He’s waiting for me at the gate. I should go.”
Emory swallowed back her disappointment, though he made no move to pull away, his thumb still pressed against the heartbeat at the base of her throat. “Or you could stay,” she breathed.
She thought he might oblige her, breach the small distance between them and kiss her once more. Instead, he tucked her curling hair behind her ear, eyes dark and heavy with want as he said, “Don’t worry, Ainsleif. Plenty of time ahead of us.” He pressed his mouth to her temple, sending shivers up her spine. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
He kissed her brow, which felt more intimate than anything they’d done, and left her there with a dimpled smile that lingered like a promise.
* * *
She dreams of Dovermere again.
Flowers and plants bloom at her command as she walks in a cave slick with moss and algae. Sunflowers adorn little pools of standing water. Great vines of philodendrons trail in her footsteps. Everything is aglow in soft whites and blues, pinks and greens, linked to her by shimmering threads of silver that pulse in time with her heartbeat. Every step she takes is full of life, and everything around her has a voice, a seed of consciousness, down to the barnacles on the rock, the minerals in the water.
She commands them. She is them. They are her and everything is connected, everything belongs.
She reaches the great beast’s belly, though it feels more like a womb. In its middle is the towering silver hourglass full of slowly dripping black sand. She lays a hand atop the cool glass, feels a prickle against her palm. A single poppy sits atop the sand, calling to her.
Emory, Emory.
She feels the bloom suffocating in its prison of glass. Its need for air strains her own lungs. Silver blood drips from her hand as she breaks the hourglass and it shatters into a thousand pieces, melding with the fine black sand in its midst. She reaches for the poppy. It crumbles at her touch, withering away to dust.