Page 125 of The Bound Blood
His mouth curves, just a little. Not teasing or smug. Something softer and more dangerous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My thumb brushes the edge of his collarbone, slow and deliberate. “That night in your bed.”
His breath catches. Not enough to hide it.
He shifts closer, close enough that my next breath tangles with his, one hand sliding back to my hip, anchoring me there. His thumb presses in slightly, a silent question and an answer all at once.
“Are you sure it was a dream?” he murmurs.
The words vibrate through me.
I tilt my head up, my free hand curling into the fabric at his side. “It didn’t feel like one.”
“It wasn’t,” he says quietly. “Because I can’t seem to stay away from you. Even in our sleep.”
That should probably raise more questions than it does. About the dreams. About what it means that our minds can reach for each other without permission. About whether the first time I dreamed of him was real too.
But I don’t chase any of those thoughts.
I kiss him again instead.
Whatever restraint he was holding onto snaps. He kisses me back hard, all the want he’s been bottling up crashing into the moment. My knees threaten to give out, and I make a small, involuntary sound as the floor tilts.
I’m aware of everything: the heat of him, the way my pulse races, the way my magic hums low and steady instead of spiraling. It feels like seconds and hours at the same time, as though my body has finally stopped arguing with my head.
When he pulls back, I’m breathing hard.
He brushes his nose against mine, then presses a kiss to my cheek—gentler, controlled again.
“This should stop here,” he says, stepping back. His hands leave me, but the shadows stay, bracing me as if he doesn’t trust my legs to do their job yet.
My chest rises and falls.
Yeah. No.
I take a step forward, closing the space he just created. “No,” I say plainly. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and then decide we’re done.”
His eyes darken.
“I’m not fragile,” I add. “And I’m not confused. If you’re scared, say that. But don’t pretend this is about protecting me.”
The shadows hesitate, waiting for his response.
I meet his gaze, heart still racing, voice steady. “If you stop now, it’s becauseyouwant to. Not because you think I should.”
Silence stretches between us.
He doesn’t warn me again. He doesn’t sayWe shouldn’torLaterorThis is dangerous.
He just looks at me for a long, charged second—and something in his expression shifts. His hand comes up to my jaw, firm, sure, and he kisses me again.
The shadows move with him as he turns, never breaking contact, one hand guiding me backward while the other reaches for the door behind me. It opens with a soft click, the darkness inside welcoming instead of ominous.
He backs me through the threshold, nudging the door shut with his foot. The latch slides into place, probably helped by his shadows.
Still kissing me.
The room smells like him—stone and cold air and ink and something unmistakably Kael—and I don’t think I could ever get enough.
