“Sure, like a lion wants a wounded gazelle,” Cole snapped. “It’s hunger, Willow. Not love.”
The Box throbbed. Willow knew she could only resist a moment longer.
“Cole, you’ve done so much for me,” she said, though her eyes stayed glued to the Box. “You brought me here. You protected me. I’ll never forget that, never in a—”
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, and somehow, his touch unlocked her. Made it possible for her to release the Box, just for a moment, and face him.
“Won’t you stay here with me?” he asked.
The question, stripped of charm and bravado, nearly wrecked her. He wasn’t trying to win her or best her or persuade her. He was just asking her to choose him, as plainly as he possibly could.
“Cole . . .” she whispered.
She glanced over her shoulder at the Box. Its energy coiled around her, savage and alive. Then Cole’s hand was on her waist, spinning her back and pulling her close. His mouth met hers. His fingers dug into her back. He left no distance between them, pressing his body to hers as if to mark her forever.
She felt the heat of him, the rhythm of his heart in time with hers. For one aching second, she wondered,And if...?
But the hum. Low. Bone-deep. It shook through like a summons.
She tore her mouth from his, wrenched free of his grip, and ran to the Box. Its lid creaked open, a beautiful mouth.
“Wait—” Cole’s voice cracked behind her.
She climbed inside, and the lid slammed shut.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WILLOW GASPED AS the air punched from her lungs, her knees slamming not into wood but soil—damp, warm, and breathing. She sucked in a lungful of strange air. It tasted musky, a bit like Amira’s heavy perfume, but layered with something deeper, loamier, faintly sweet.
She wasn’t in the Box anymore. Not in Hemridge. Not in the world of her parents, her sisters, or Mr. Chapman.
Or Cole. She was no longer in Cole’s world, but that was as it should be. She was somewhere else entirely—the forest she’d dreamed about, the realm Serrin had tugged her toward night after night.
The place she was meant to be.
She pushed herself into a sitting position. A forest stretched around her, vast and endless. The trees were impossibly tall, their bark slick and silvered. Their leaves rustled and curled as if catching her scent.
She tilted her face to the sky—a wash of lavender threaded with soft, moving light, like the inside of a geode. No sun. No moon. No stars. And yet the world glowed.
“I did it,” she whispered, breath trembling in her chest. Amira had been right. She was the chosen one. The Box had let her through, and Eryth had let her in.She was here.
She rose on unsteady legs, brushing damp soil from her jeans.
Something rustled, and she spun to see a duskwyrm slither out from beneath a gnarled root, its scales catching the light in a ripple of amethyst and oil. Willow froze, heart jackhammering.
But then wonder overtook fear. The duskwyrm, like Eryth, was just as she’d imagined. Its golden eyes fixed on hers. It flicked its forked tongue.
“It’s okay,” Willow said softly. She lifted her hands, palms out. “You’re okay. I’m a friend. See?”
It stared at her. Then, with a swish of muscle, it turned and vanished into the undergrowth.
She stood there for a moment longer, breathing hard. But she wasn’t afraid. She refused to be. She was meant to be here, and everything would make sense soon.
She turned in a slow circle. There were no roads or markers in the endless forest, only the rustle of leaves.
But—wait. She squinted. Past the trees, something shimmered. She stepped closer, and the shimmer grew stronger until a path unfurled, drawn into being as if it had waited only for her.
