Page 222 of The Edge of Darkness

Now, it was as if what we had just done had rewritten everything. Like she had been changed by it.

I knew I had been changed by it. I felt it.

When she retracted her hand, I caught her wrist and angled my body toward her. “Nivelle, I . . .”

What was I going to say?

I could tell her how she was the only one—outside of the Trium and Maeson—that knew the story behind that scar, and how much it meant that she listened. Or I could tell her just how beautiful she looked lying naked beside me, bathed in shadows and my sweat and the aftermath of our passions. But every word caught in my throat.

So I leaned in and kissed her.

This time, it was gentle, and I took her face into my hands as I spread her lips with my tongue. She tasted like apples and rain. Her fingers wound through my beard, then my hair, relaxing me.

I could stay like this all night—for days, even. My chest thrummed, and my arousal quickly returned. It hadn’t fully gone away to begin with, but I remained steady and restrained myself. If I truly unleashed everything that was pent up inside me, it might be too much for her, and that wasn’t something I was willing to risk tonight.

The kiss slowed, and I savored each taste of her before pulling away.

Lips swollen and red, she let out a contented sigh and sank back against her pillow. “Let’s sleep,” she said, succumbing to a yawn.

“All right.”

She reached for the sheet and tugged it over herself, turning on her side to face me. I brushed back the hair that fell forward over her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed.

If I had stayed on that rug by the fire, and denied her, or if I’d only given her the blanket she’d left for me, instead of my body heat and my cock, none of this would have happened, and I would have never found out that just the simple act of kissing her and pushing the hair from her face filled some place within me that I hadn’t known was empty.

Quietly, I stood and strode to the cabinet she had mentioned earlier. Indeed, a spare pillow was there, and it sat on top of a pile of plush blankets. Plenty to have kept her warm.

I smiled to myself and turned, about to make a comment about her clever little ruse, but her eyes were still closed, and her lips were now slightly parted. She was lost to sleep.

For a moment, I lingered there, watching as her chest moved at a calm, steady pace. Her eyes darted beneath their lids as if she was already dreaming. She looked so peaceful, yet I knew that within, her soul was as wild as the stormy sea that surrounded the isles.

I tugged the pillow and a blanket from the cabinet and brought them to the bed. I spread the blanket atop her, and used the pillow as a cushion for my back, propping myself up against the wooden headboard.

The sound of the rain was a backdrop to my own pulse. My heart was still racing, and this time, it wasn’t brought on by the adrenaline of battle, or the thrill of a quick bedding with a stranger. This was something different. Something deeper.

And fuck . . . it actually scared me.

Beside me, Nivelle twitched, then mumbled something inaudible in her sleep, shifting her hips. My hand instinctively moved, settling on her thigh. At my touch, she calmed once more.

I worked my jaw, realizing that whatever this was, whatever had just occurred, it wasn’t a simple matter. It wasn’t a fling that I would lose interest in. Something inside me was tethered to the witch that lay next to me, and that tether incited more than lust and angst, though, those things were still very much present—in the best way.

This was all-consuming. Frighteningly so. And I had the sudden understanding that this was what Niall and Auren shared. What Aremis fought so hard to have with Maeson.

Fuck. I was in love.

I woke to a wight sitting at the other end of the bed, staring at me. I immediately frowned and shooed it away with my foot. It gave a small hiss before jumping onto the floor and darting into the other room.

Beside me, the bed was empty.

I frowned again as I sat up on my elbows and stared out the window at the overcast sky. The rain had stopped, but the trees were still dripping, and there was a chill in the air. In the fireplace, nothing but ashes remained.

A thump sounded from the kitchen, then Nivelle peered around the doorframe. When she saw that I was awake, she entered, carrying two steaming mugs.

“Good morning,” I rasped.

“Good morning.” She handed me a cup. “It’s tea.”

I breathed in the steam, recognizing the scent of cinnamon, ginger, and clove, like the tea Niall liked to keep stocked in The Keep. “Thanks,” I said, not bothering to let the drink cool as I sipped.