Page 121 of Down Comes the Night

He began to draw up her dress, and her breath hitched. With him brushing kisses up her thighs, she couldn’t seem to remember why the statue had bothered her anymore. She wasn’t even sure she remembered her own name when she felt the heat of his mouth against her. Her head fell back uselessly, and a helpless sound escaped her throat. It was too much. She’d fall apart—shewasfalling apart, the backs of her eyelids shining golden. It was all she could do to ground herself: her fingers buried in his hair, his name on her lips like an incantation, and—

He pulled back, eyes glittering with something like mischief. He left her gasping as she crashed violently back into her body. Before he could say anything, she pulled him in by his lapels and kissed him. Desperation roughened her. Her nails dug into his shoulder, her teeth into his lip. He sucked in an audible breath, equal parts pain and desire. She tasted blood, copper, and adrenaline. A painful reminder that she’d almost lost him and that she might again.

How dare you leave me?she wanted to ask.What would I have done?

He held her close, steady. His palms were warm on her waist, his thumbs tracing the arc of her ribs.I’m here now,he seemed to say.I’m with you.

Wren drew back, panting into the bare space between their lips. In his eyes, she saw her own yearning mirrored:more.He gathered up the edge of her dress and said, “Can I take this off?”

“Please.”

Hal lifted her nightdress inch by inch over her head, the thin fabric a caress against her skin. Next came her chemise, each layer removed as carefully as the last. When he cast everything aside,leaving her naked under his gaze, Wren had to look away from him. His admiration embarrassed her as much as it thrilled her.

“What?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

His hands grazed her waist, then the curves of her breasts, with such tenderness, it was as if she were something to be worshipped. She couldn’t bear it. She was too impatient, too close to crying that he should make herhopelike this. Pulling his face back to hers, she kissed him again, clumsily, and fumbled to undress him. His buttons were too-complicated puzzles. His belt clattered too loudly on the floor. Every barrier between them was cumbersome, destructible, as she searched for his bare skin. He let her do it patiently, his eyes hungry and wanting.

At last, she succeeded, her hands splayed out against the solid warmth of his chest. The moment she removed everything between them, Hal pulled her against him as though he couldn’t bear being apart from her a moment longer than necessary. His weight settled over her, everywhere they touched hot and aching.

His usual confidence faded as he stared down at her. In its place was something strange on him. Nervousness. She couldn’t reassure him, really. Not when her heart thrummed against his with equal parts anxiety and anticipation. She brushed his hair back from his face.

“You’re certain?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she said. “I want you.”

Hal sighed, a ragged sound. Surrender.

He was gentle—everything between themsorry,thenyes, there,thenwait,until at last it settled. As she lost herself in the darkness of his eyes, she realized something she’d known for some time. It was one of those inarticulable, unquestionable truths of the universe, glimmering in the depths of his wonderstruck gaze. Hal Cavendish washers,and he would do anything she asked of him. And she would do the same.

He was so impossibly still, and she swore she was flying.

“You’re not hurting me,” she whispered hoarsely. When he kissed her, she tasted his relief like a sugar cube pressed onto her tongue. No, he couldn’t hurt her. Not on purpose.

Afterward, Wren stayed awake long after his breathing slowed. It was a vigil her body demanded she keep. She couldn’t rest until she made sure he wouldn’t be taken from her again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Wren jerked awake from a nightmare. But when she opened her eyes, it was only to a darkness muffling her like a quilt drawn over her head. The soft shadows were dappled by the faint glow of lamps outside the window. Her breathing evened out, even as her stomach churned.

I’m in the abbey,she told herself.I’m safe.

But her every nerve bristled with dread. Through the cracked window, the cold air carried a charge that prickled the hairs on her arms. It promised a thunderstorm. Beyond that, shefeltsomething—something fast-approaching and malicious. In wartime, she’d trained herself to startle awake at even the crack of a twig. Right now, it felt too much like a battlefield, with unseen dangers lurking at the edge of her vision.

As her eyes adjusted, she noticed Hal sitting upright beside her. The blankets pooled around his waist, leaving him bare. Pale moonlight painted the ridges of his muscles with deep blue shadows. Wren reached out to him, the pads of her fingertips brushing hisspine. His entire body went rigid at her touch, but when he turned over his shoulder, relief softened him.

“Do you feel it, too?” she whispered.

“Yes.” His eyes were impossibly tender beneath the concern. “We should get Dryden.”

By the time they dressed and gathered their things, three sharp knocks on the door sounded. Una stepped through the doorway, her face drawn. “We need to move.”

A cold fist of unease clenched around Wren’s heart. “You think it’s the Guard?”

“It’s likely,” Una said, her expression steely. If she was at all afraid, it did not show. “We’ll put some distance between us.”

They crept through the darkened corridors and emerged into the main hall. Only the most tenacious moonlight squeezed in through the stained glass. Through the lingering haze of ceremonial smoke, it patterned the floor like waves. Wren could only focus on the long streaks of red. The color of blood. The color of the rubies always glittering on Lowry’s hands. It reminded her far too much of Colwick Hall.