Page 21 of The Dragon and the Dove

He gave a measured sigh. ‘For years I watched my mother suffer because of my father’s volatile moods. His cruel heavy fists. That violence… it ate away at me. I hated that I couldn’t protect her. That I couldn’t protect Anouk.’

He leaned in, filling her world with the gold of his eyes. And yet it was darkness that peered out at her, unflinching, unyielding.

‘I don’t want to feel that powerless ever again, Sera. Not with you. If this is the kind of saint destiny wishes me to be, then let me become it. I’d rather welcome the dark as my ally, than watch it take away the people I love.’

His words hung like a thundercloud between them. Heavy and dark and filled with pain. She wanted to protest, to say that he was so much more than his gift, that there could be light within the shadows, but she didn’t know if that was true.

He kissed her frown, peppermint on his breath. She parted her lips and his tongue swept in, desire consuming her until there was only the warmth of his hands sliding through her hair and the vital hunger of his kiss.

This was what he needed. A love that felt primal and feverish, a thread sewn so deeply between their souls that it was stronger even than magic. Than darkness.

Not words, but touch.

‘Come to bed,’ she begged against his mouth.

He kissed her again, hard. Pulled her onto his lap, let her feel the growing strength of his desire.

Perched on the knife edge of a fatal drop, she ground into him, wrenching a moan from deep in his chest. She chased it with her own. He fisted her hair, shivering as she ripped his collar open and slid her hands across his bare chest.

Tipping her head back with a gentle tug, he worked his mouth down the column of her neck, kissing the hollow of her throat. The world spun away, frustration drowning in pleasure, desire feasting on fear.

A bird cried on the wind.

Tensing, Ransom jerked his chin up.

‘It’s a raven,’ she said, half breathless. ‘Just a raven.’

There was time. They had time.

But he was already pulling back from her, gently removing her hands from his chest.

Ghosting his lips across her fingers, he said, ‘Go back inside. I’ll find you later.’

The chill nipped at her arms as she stood. She folded them tight. ‘I’ll be busy later. I’m going to try another making today.’

His frown was swift. ‘It’s only been three days since Versini. You’ve barely recovered.’

‘Four days.’ Four days too many, according to Fontaine. ‘I’m fine, Ransom. I’m ready.’

And it’s not like she had a choice. Her magic was constantly prodding at her, that strange old voice hissing at her in her sleep.

It is time, Maker.

Destiny’s hand was heavy on her shoulder.

She was done waiting for Theo’s magic to present itself.

‘You don’t know what it’s taking from you,’ said Ransom.

‘Probably the same as what your magic is taking from you,’ she shot back.

His frown deepened. ‘I liked it better when we were kissing.’

‘Me too.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I want to be there.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, turning from him. ‘And for hell’s sake, get rid of that gargoyle on my windowsill.’