Woon nodded in relief and sat down beside her on the sofa. “No matter what my official title is, my real job is always helping you in whatever way I can, Shae-jen.”
The walls of Shae’s throat felt as if they were thickening. She moved closer to her friend and put her arms around him in an embrace. “You’ve already done enough,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’ve relied on you constantly for six years and given you so little in return. When we take our oaths as Green Bones, we say we’re ready to die for the clan. But living for the clan, every day, the way you have, Papi-jen—I think that’s even more of a sacrifice.”
A pulse of emotion shivered through Woon’s jade aura. He leaned into her and rested his hand on her arm where it lay against his chest. “I’m afraid that you think I’m leaving my post because I’m tired or unhappy being your Shadow. Or that I . . .” He hesitated. “Or that I expected something more from you. That’s not true.”
Pressure was building inside Shae’s rib cage. She hated that Hilo was right about her not being able to say the things that needed to be said—but she had a chance to change that now, before it was too late. “I could never blame you for wanting your own life back when I’m the one who took advantage of you,” she confessed, glad he couldn’t see her face, but knowing he could Perceive the thudding of her heart. “After Lan was killed, I exploited your grief to pull you into working for me when we both knew you could’ve been Weather Man yourself if only things had been different. I couldn’t have survived on Ship Street without you, but I’m sorry for what I did. And I’m sorry it took me so long to say so.”
Her former aide was silent for so long that Shae began to fear she’d made an awful mistake by bringing up Lan’s death. It was a sorrow they had in common, but that they held individually. She let her arms fall away from him, but Woon turned toward her and wrapped his large hands around hers, holding on to them so tightly that she could feel the throb of his pulse in his palms.
“I could never have been the Weather Man you are, Shae-jen,” he said roughly, his face lowered. “I wasn’t the Pillarman that Lan-jen needed. I did everything that he asked and kept his secrets without question. That was a mistake. I should’ve spoken up, I should’ve confronted him, I should’ve gone to Hilo-jen. But I didn’t. I was happy to be promoted, and even though I knew Lan was injured and taking shine, I left him alone when he most needed me.”
Woon raised his eyes. His normally steady gaze seemed as fragile as paper. “I deserved to die for that failure. I promised myself I would do everything for Lan’s sister that I failed to do for him—I would support her in any way she required, but I would also challenge her, and I would never fail to say things that needed to be said, so she would be the Weather Man I couldn’t be.”
Woon lifted a hand to brush away the tear that had begun to make its way down the side of Shae’s nose. “It wasn’t long before being your Shadow wasn’t a duty, but what I selfishly wanted to do. It hasn’t ever been easy, and there were times I was afraid I’d fail you—but if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate. The clan is my blood, but for me, the Weather Man is its master.”
Shae could not find any words in reply. The rain had stopped and the sky outside was clear. Woon let go of her hands and turned aside to hide the embarrassment in his face. “I should go,” he said, beginning to stand.
Shae grabbed his wrist and was on her feet before he could fully rise. “Don’t.”
A ripple of mutual intent surged through both of their jade auras like a static charge. “Shae . . .” Woon began, his voice strange. Then the space between them vanished. Woon’s mouth was pressed over hers, or her mouth was on his—she had no idea who’d moved first. All she knew was that a flimsy wall they’d been holding up from opposite sides had collapsed between them. She was on her toes, arms wrapped around his neck. Woon’s hands were buried in her hair, cupping the back of her head as their lips and tongues sought each other with a trembling, desperate abandon that lit every square inch of Shae’s body.
She sank straight into desire like a stone into the center of a still pool. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone, nearly four years, and that relationship had ended in unspeakable tragedy. Yet kissing Woon now, there was no tentativeness, no self-conscious surrender or shock of strangeness, only solid familiarity and a tumbling release as natural as gravity. She felt arousal blaze through his aura like kerosene going up in flames, blinding her sense of Perception with raging heat.