“I’ll see it done.”
The words are so clipped they sting.
There’s a hardness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Cold.
Detached.
“So,” he says, and a chill scuttles up my spine as his upper lip peels back from his canines. “Would you like me to come around and bend you over the table?” He tips his head to the side. “Fuck you right here so we can get it over with? Or would you like to draw it out a bit?”
I drop my gaze to the table.
He doesn’t get it …
If I wanted to fuck, I’d find someone without the laden baggage to scratch the itch with.
A few lusty glances here, the crook of a finger there. I could have some faceless male in a darkened corner in no time, parting the tendrils of my skirt and giving me what I need without the pressure of leaving with our fates intertwined.
This is not about … that.
All I want from this slumber is to allow myself to love. Or at the very least try.
For him.
For me.
Though I may not be the one he lost, I could give him the goodbye I don’t believe he got but undoubtedly deserves. I could pretend my heart is soft and warm and vulnerable. That I’m worthy of everything this spectacular male embodies, even though a stone in my gut tells me that’s not the case. That Kaan Vaegor is too good for me in every way, shape, and form.
But I won’t think about that right now.
No …
I’ll save that thought for when I’m stepping into The Curly Quill. For when I’m preparing to pass Vruhn a sack of gold, then beg him to remove Kaan like a prickly weed when he’s actually a forest.
Lush.
Strong.
Beautiful.
Too vulnerable to the nip of flames for me to bear.
Maybe he’ll follow my lead. Remove me.
Perhaps this slumber will give him the freedom to finally say goodbye to the female he used to know. To bury the past. Find happiness with someone worthy of his big, warm-hearted love.
Perhaps.
I stand, move around the table, Kaan’s stare still speared at my now-empty chair when I finally reach his side and extend my hand.
His gaze dips to it, then lifts to my smile.
My eyes.
“Dance with me?” I whisper.
The ball in his throat rolls as his eyes take on slightly softer lines. As my heart thumps harder, those fluttering things inside my chest multiplying. Nuzzling against my ribs and making my entire body tingle.
“Please?”
A moment of pause before he stands, towering above me, ignoring my outstretched hand. “Lead the way, Prisoner Seventy-Three.”
I take his hand anyway, then tug him toward the exit.
Raeve’s hand is so warm and alive snagged around my wrist. Such a contrast to our frosty, jagged surroundings. To this shard of bitter emotion lodged between my ribs, swung with the same hand she now uses to lead me through the pulse of celebration.
Some folk glance at me as we pass, then at the breathtaking female dragging me along, weaving us through the throng in a trail of silver tendrils that gust behind her. She looks at me over her shoulder, eyes like glaciers, her soft smile the gleaming slash of a blade that strikes home, bleeding the vulnerable organ that so eagerly pumps for her.
Only her.
The only beam of light I’ll ever need or want in this world, my love for her sitting like a moon in my chest. Only this moon will never fall, no matter how hard she tugs on it.
She snags a crystal flute from a passing server, then downs the drink in a single gulp, thumping the empty glass atop a table on our way past.
Stealing glances at the sky, she stills within a somewhat less-crowded area of the dance space framed by clusters of icy columns, only a few other couples dotted about, swaying to the beat. Raeve lifts my arm above her head, and I stand still as she closes her eyes and twirls—smiling. Kicking up the fog and packing my lungs full of stones.
The aurora casts her skin in a silver sheen, her smile so wide her dimples pucker. Dimples I’ve not seen since she burst into laughter at Mah’s special place, reviving me despite the vicious words that followed. Before that, not since the last slumber we spent together, when the aurora was just as flush.
Another slumber we spent pretending.
If I’d known that slumber would be our last, I would’ve spoken the words I’d been edging around for cycles. Begged her to take my hand forever, despite my weaknesses.
My shortcomings.
Begged her to break from the Tri-Council’s decision—for us. Because I thought that’s what she wanted.
Us.
That the Creators had blessed me as the one she chose to love.