Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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He kissed me.
In only a few hours I'd gone from no kisses to a saturation of them. This was our fourth kiss moment. And this kiss was the one I loved most.
It was achingly sweet and threaded with relief and full of wonder, too.
I sighed as I sank into his sensual touch, my eyelashes fluttering shut as my hands rose instinctively to cup his bristly cheeks. A few strands of inky-black hair that had come loose tickled my forehead as his hand at the back of my neck angled my head to deepen the kiss. While his lips gently moved over mine, his tongue teased languid caresses, and the briny tang of my tears made the kiss only sharper and sweeter. Tears which had been formed from the fear that he wouldn't understand, that he'd already judged and condemned me for my secret. But his kiss told me otherwise. It spoke to me in ways far better than if he'd opened his mouth and tried to speak.
He kissed me as if we had forever. A kiss to reassure himself that I was fine, alive, and well. A kiss that promised there were many more to come. Vibrant sparks lit behind my eyelids like a shower of fireworks as pleasure swept through my blood, and my mind couldn't help but flick rapidly through the pages of my life, tempting me to daydream of the delightful possibilities of what could be: a life with him by my side. After I saved my aunt, he'd ask her permission to court me. There'd be picnic lunches, drives down country roads with the wake of rusty leaves spilling behind us, and maybe he'd take me to a Def Leppard concert like I'd always wanted. There'd be a small, modest wedding with close friends and family, and we'd have to decide which House to serve. He'd give me the choice to make, and we'd remain here at the Deniauds' where we'd make one of the newlywed rooms our home. There'd be a brood of girls with golden hair and violet eyes for my aunt to coddle. Girls with sweet temperaments and a dash of arrogance that would need curbing.
When Mr. Whiskers pulled away, I swayed gently, slowly opening my eyes and grinning at this scruffy-bearded man. Gods, his wicked, brash mouth. My aunt was going to have a heart attack when I introduced her to him.
We were both standing on our knees facing one another. His big hands framed my face, his thumbs tenderly brushing away the tears dampening my cheeks. He pressed his forehead to mine, one hand moving back to the nape of my neck, his fingers tightening as his lips ghosted mine. His rough voice rasped, "I thought you were going to die. Twice. I thought I was going to pull your corpse out of a watery grave, and when I saw those scissors embedded in your stomach... How much blood..." He squeezed his eyes shut and his voice was raw and cracking. "I thought you were going to bleed out and die in my arms."
"I didn't die," I whispered, my heart stumbling in awe at his honest words, at the fear for me fraying his tone. "I heal really fast," I told him once more, drawing away to gently brush the hanks of hair from his forehead and gift him a reassuring smile.
