I grinned at him and let my eyes open and close whenever they felt like it. Either way, I was overwhelmed by his deep cinnamon eyes, his warm touch, and his aura of love I’d been deprived of. Either way, he was the most beautiful thing in my presence.
He brought his knees up slightly to give me more traction as I continued to ride him. His head tilted back as his own eyes closed, and I wondered if he was joining me in the garden. So I shut mine too. The feeling of him on my skin filled me with a sense of peace, like I had kept a small flame alive in a windstorm and the dawn was just breaking over the horizon.
I moved faster, and so did he. I panted as his name spilled off my lips in a breathy whisper. In that moment, I loved him. I did. I loved him. I vaguely noticed my own skin glow dimly as I began to slammyself against him with fury and passion. His grip over my hips tightened, digging into my flesh, but the bite of his nails only spurred my need for him.
“Yes, Ripley,” he huffed out in a breathy tone that turned torturous. His hands flew to my shoulders, forcing me down onto him as he jutted upward and held his position. And when I felt him succumb to ecstasy, I met him with my own.
It was then that I fell apart. Raveled. Tangled in him. My love sown back to his protective spirit—to the dark aura he was buried in.
CHAPTER
NINE
I opened my eyes before Fletcher, morning sun streaming over the bed from the small window near the ceiling. Dust particles spun and danced in the light, bringing in the smell of the nearby forest.
I shifted my legs so that my feet weren’t tangled in the mess of blankets and cuddled closer to Fletcher, who lay on his side, arms wrapped around me, and sleeping steadily. I faced him, assessing his features. The zigzag knife wound on his temple looked a little better. Sleep did him wonders. His skin was olive again, and though the skin surrounding his eyes was still darkened, he finally looked rested. Redness in his lips had returned, making them irresistible. I wanted his mouth on mine again. But his health was more important than my urges.
I rested my hand over his chest, wanting to feel my magic pulsing through him, in and out of his heart, if it was still there. And with my movement, his heart rate increased. I felt a faint wave of something flowing from him to me under the palm of my hand. Had that been what he was referring to? The ritual? That bond it had created?
“Let me know if you want me to take off my shirt,” he whispered then smirked. “It’ll be easier for you to rip out my heart with your teeth that way.” I went to remove my hand, but his had already come down on top of mine, holding it in place. His eyes fluttered open. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I croaked. “Why do you always keep your shirt on?”
His head came closer as his lips pressed against my forehead. “Because you always ask me about my tattoo when I take it off.”
I had forgotten about the small number ten inked right below his collarbone. Every time I had asked him about it in the past, he’d been cagey and distracted me from knowing an answer. “Why can’t I know?”
Something dark and concerning dashed over his expression.
The tattoo was about me.
“It is.”
I narrowed my eyes and pushed myself away from him a bit. “Then why can’t I know?”
His smirk vanished and was replaced with a look of simple contemplation. “I’m afraid.”
I drew languid circles where I thought the number lived just beneath his shirt. “Of what?”
His hand came down on mine, flattening it over his tattoo. “Of what you might do if you find out what it means.”
“Is it about the ritual?”
He shook his head. “It is not.”
I scrunched my lips to the side, biting on the inside of my cheek. “If you won’t tell me about that, will you tell me about the ritual?”
He rolled onto his back, keeping my hand over the tattoo. His other arm pulled me closer. After a deep inhale and exhale, he started. “When you were little, you were a nuisance.” He smiled like he enjoyed the memory. “You used to seek me out and call my name from across the courtyard. You’d bat your eyes at me, sway your hips, swing your purse. You’d try and hug me—chased me around. I’d always push you away.” He chuckled. “You’d come visit me every night, and itwould take me hours to convince you to go back home.” Then, he paused and his smile turned into a distracting frown. “Your existence consumed my entire life, every thought.
“When I was nine, something nasty settled over the kingdom. My magic pulsed under my skin like a lighthouse. I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart was racing, and I knew something was wrong. Something was wrong with you. Like you’d die if I didn’t get to you in time.
“When I looked out over Elizy from my spot on my hill, I saw three other boys leaving their houses, skin flaring like mine. I knew I had to get to you before them. Whatever it was, you wanted—neededmeto help. And if I didn’t get to you fast enough, I’d lose you.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes like he didn’t like thinking about it. “I raced toward the mountains behind the kingdom, toward the feeling of your distress. I thought maybe you had teleported there or you slipped and fell. I tried using my magic to get to you faster, but it wasn’t working.
“I got to the base of the mountain and stopped. I watched the other three boys climb while I stood there, sensing you. That’s when I noticed somethingunderlying your panicked signal. A smooth, quiet hum of you, Ripley.”
I looked at him while he told the story. He was fond of the memory. I could tell by the way the corner of his mouth tugged upward at the thought of being able to sense me better than the other boys.
“I looked back to the castle, and you got louder, brighter. Your magic was trying to tell me something, calling to me. So I ran in the opposite direction. I scaled the outside of the castle walls, onto your balcony, and into your room.
