Page 55 of The Bound Blood
I step in, close enough that his scent wraps around me—ink and old books and something earthy that’s entirely him.
Then I kiss him.
It’s not our first kiss, but it’s the first one that feels like an answer. Like a yes to all the things neither of us are brave enough to say out loud yet.
His hand lands on my waist, tentative at first, then more certain. And when I pull back, he’s breathless and red to the tips of his ears.
“I’m fine,” I say, looking up at him. “And I’m really glad you’re here.”
He swallows. “Yeah. Me too.”
His hand is still on my waist when the silence folds in again. A soft, uncertain hush between us.
But my thoughts aren’t quiet.
You have to choose before someone else does.
The words echo in my skull, ripped from the mouth of the version of me that lived in that dream state—jaded and a little cruel, but still me. Stillright.
I’m not sure if she meant in the romantic sense or a path in general. But standing here, circling into Nolan’s gravity, I feel thatpull. Ineedsomething solid. A hand to hold that isn’t going to hurt me or drenched in power too old to understand.
I need somethingreal.
And Nolan—awkward, brilliant, quietly brave Nolan—isreal.
My heart stutters, and before I can overthink it, I kiss him again.
This time it’s not gentle.
His inhale is sharp against my mouth, his lips parting with surprise before he melts into me, hand tightening at my hip like he’s been waiting for permission. Like he’s been holding backeverything.
I push up on my toes, one hand gripping his shirt, the other threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans—low and almost broken.
Somehow, we end up moving.
He backs me into the nearest darkened alcove, his body slotting between mine and the wall like he’s been there a thousand times before. One hand braces against the stone besidemy head; the other presses flat to my waist, grounding me, even as he kisses me breathless.
His mouth trails lower—along my jaw, then down my neck—and I swear I feel himsmileagainst my skin when I gasp.
“You smell like Kael’s soap,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I freeze for half a second.
He pulls back immediately. “Shit—Linds—I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine,” I whisper, fingers tightening in his shirt. “You’re the one I’m kissing right now, aren’t you?”
His eyes go wide behind his glasses. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”
Good.
Because Ineedthis.
Not a prophecy. Not a mission. Not ancient magic and cracked veils and Council fallout.
Justthis.
Nolan’s mouth crashes into mine again, and this time there’s nothing hesitant about it. We kiss like we could’ve died four days ago—because we could’ve. As if this might be the only moment we’ll get—because it might.
