“I want this.” I slide a hand behind his neck and pull him with me as I lower myself to lie on the rock. He presses his mouth to mine, gently at first, sucking and tasting, before his tongue sweeps inside.
I moan beneath him as need and desire ignite in my blood. He deepens the kiss, groaning with a hunger that matches my own. My hands roam over his shoulders and down his powerful back. I taste the desperation in his groan, feel it in the hand he has wrapped around my hip. He slides it to my waist. To my breast. His thumb lightly brushes the underside through the thin, wet fabric, and I gasp at the pleasure of such a simple touch. Arching my back, I press into him, willing his hands to explore and— Agony. I jerk out of Finn’s arms and push him away. I’m swamped with pain. Heartache. I let out a cry, but it has nothing to do with physical sensations and everything to do with the ache in my chest.
“Abriella?” Confusion warps Finn’s features as he studies me. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
I press a palm to my chest, and my eyes fill with tears. “I—” I sob.
“Talk to me.”
Dragging in a ragged breath, I focus on what Misha taught me. To ground myself. To shield. “It’s .
. .”
Understanding flashes in his eyes as he pulls away from me and settles into a crouch on the other side of the rock. “Sebastian.” He mutters a curse. “Of course. He feels you—knows you’re here with me—and you’re experiencing his reaction to that.”
“How . . .” I shake my head. “I thought I’d blocked him.”
“It’s hard to feel anything intensely and block it from that bond.” He scoots close enough to reach me and brushes his fingers over my cheek, down my neck. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who bonded with Sebastian for the wrong reasons.
“I’ll let you finish bathing and meet you back on shore.” He lowers himself into the water, then slips beneath the surface and swims away.
I open my mouth to call him back, but what can I do? What can I say?
I’m bonded to Sebastian. I made that choice despite Finn’s warnings, and now it can’t be undone.
The ride back to camp is tense and painfully quiet. I ride in front of Finn again, but instead of the proximity feeling sensual and decadent, it’s an uncomfortable reminder of what happened under the waterfall. Finn keeps his hands wrapped around Two Star’s reins and nowhere else. Somehow that only makes it worse, and I’m grateful when camp comes into view.
Soon I’m alone in my tent, changing into yet another dress. This one is the palest silver, the color of the moon. It’s strapless, with a heart-shaped bodice that barely conceals the rune marked on my breast, and the soft fabric flows in layers from the high waist.
I linger as long as I can, hoping we’ll have a chance to talk in private, but Finn doesn’t come.
The clear skies remain through the evening, and when the sun sets, every star looks like a precious jewel glittering in the moonlight. The Lunastal celebration weaves between tents and around the bonfire, even down the side of the mountain.
Musicians play all around us, dancing and singing as their fingers fly over the strings and keys of their instruments. There’s food and laughter and so much dancing. These people are so excited to welcome their prince that my heart aches for the role I played—even unintentionally—in keeping the crown from him.
“Are you having fun?” a deep voice asks beside me.
I turn to see Misha’s smile, his big brown eyes scanning my face as if he’s trying to read my mind through my shield. “Sure.”
He huffs. “You seem awfully sad tonight, Princess. This is supposed to be a party.”
“I guess I’m just lost in my thoughts.” My throat goes tight. “I heard about what happened to these people during Mordeus’s rule, how they had to abandon their homes and their lives here to hide from him.”
Nodding, Misha scans the crowd. “I imagine that’s why they already love you.”
“They don’t love me.”
He chuckles softly. “Everyone does, Abriella. Everyone here at least.” His gaze scans the faces of the happy, dancing people around us before landing on Finn. The shadow prince is leaning against the side of a tent and has a hand tangled in his own dark curls as he smiles down at Juliana, who’s gesticulating wildly, telling some exciting story, no doubt.
“They love him, ” I tell Misha. “They accept me because they think we’re a package deal.”