Page 126 of Vasmora

“It’s enough, then.” Beneath his unlaced tunic, a long, white scar across his stomach, one I hadn’t accounted for the last time we’d been together, seized my attention, daring me to touch it. “There was a moment, when we were in The Crone Witch’s hovel, when I imagined a simple life with you. Without the monsters or prophecies. Just you and me. But that will never be, will it?” The contracted ridge of the scar passed beneath my tracing fingertip.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever be simple. But it’ll always be you and me, A’miszhla.”

I leaned forward, hesitated, then cupping both sides of his face, I pressed my lips to his. The taste of him was pure decadence, like spiced wine by the fire. An intoxicating comfort that had me pressing closer, clinging to him, as a dizzying euphoria swept over me.

Like falling.

Down.

Down.

He slid his hand through my hair, fingers curling into the strands, deepening the kiss. Slow and lazy, at first, his tongue slipping between my lips, tasting. His grip tightened, a sound of need rumbling in his throat, vibrating across my mouth. The world around us shifted and tilted on its axis, my lungs beating against my ribs for a sip of air. He broke the kiss, angling my head back, cradling it in his palm as he kissed along the curve of my throat.

His fingers slipping through mine. The look of remorse in his eyes. The pain. The final images had hooked themselves so tightly in my thoughts, but all of it loosened like gnarls unraveling inside of me. Drifting away on flitting threads.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I gripped his shoulders, desperate for him. Every inch of his skin against mine. Mindlessly, I clawed at his tunic, and he paused his kisses long enough to lift the shirt over his head. Hasty fingers unlaced the cloak I wore that smelled of oiled leather and steel with notes of that delicious woodsy amber. Once free of the garment, I sprang forward, wrapping my arms around him, my breasts to his scarred chest, fingers through his hair.

Mine.

He was mine.

Arms banded around me, he ran his lips along my collarbone, kissing a line to my shoulders and back to the crook of my neck. Goosebumps scattered over my skin, a chill rippling through me, quickly warmed by the heat of his skin.

“Stop! Please don’t do this!”

The words of the mimicrow echoed through my head, and I gasped, pushing against his chest to break away.

I must’ve worn a look of horror, the way his brows furrowed in concern.

“What is it A’miszhla?”

Don’t tell him. Don’t say a word.

All I could do was shake my head as the screams relentlessly bounced inside my skull. I screwed my eyes shut. “No, no, no.”

“I won’t do it! I refuse! I defy the gods!”

Squeezing my eyes harder, I let out a choked sob. “Stop!”

“Look at me.” His firm voice carried over the noise, his hand gripping the back of my neck, just as Aleysia had always done when I’d slipped into fits of panic as a child. “Open your eyes, moon witch. I’m here.”

How could I look at him, knowing the countless ways he’d suffered? How could I ever look at him again without hearing those heart-wrenching pleas?

“Hey.” He gave my nape a light, reassuring squeeze. “I’m right here. Stay with me, yeah?”

I opened my eyes, the blur of tears sharpening around the fiery gaze staring back at me, and nodded.

The absence of his body sent a chill over me, and I pressed in closer, the warmth of his skin a balm to the cold, to which I’d grown so accustomed. His scent pervaded my senses, stirring a greater hunger. A starving desire to be touched. Acknowledged, after endless days of isolation. His touch was all I craved.

My lips hunted his neck, teeth latching to flesh, my hands gripping his muscled biceps, those strong arms that had carried me from my cold, lifeless prison. And his scarred hands that’d exacted vengeance, yet held me with such reverence. As if I were a withering flower he longed to preserve.

“Take me away, Zevander. Make me forget everything,” I whispered.

He held my face in his hands, his eyes undoubtedly searching, silently studying me for any sign of hesitation.

“Please.” I kissed him, surging up onto my knees, threading my fingers in his hair. “Take me away,” I said against his lips.

Knuckles brushed my legs as he unlaced his trousers and pushed them down the length of his thighs, springing himself free.