Chapter 24

Sorcha split the small apple in one slice, contemplating the two pieces. It was bruised on one side but edible—a luxury after all the miles between the Traveling City and the foot of the mountains where they’d find another relic. Slowly, she sectioned the slightly wrinkled apple with the paring knife, cutting it into bite-sized pieces. Concentrating on the feel of the blade slipping through it, Sorcha inhaled the hints of late summer apple released.

There was more than enough to share. She popped a piece in her mouth and pressed it flat against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, cheeks tingling. She slid the plate in Adrian’s direction with a scrape of metal on wood.

The brazier crackling in the corner lit his face—shadows clinging to him like smoke. He was absorbed by the map spread out before him on the cot. There were several of varying sizes and details, but none were the one they’d used to find the missing relics. These were for some other place. Maybe the places he would be sent to next. Sorcha slid the plate a little closer into the edge of his vision, and his dark eyes flicked up to her face.

“It’s for you.” He spoke softly, a reminder and remonstration.

“I know.” Sorcha nodded. “I’ve decided to share.”

An eyebrow went up, a question crossing his face—there and gone. But Adrian ignored the plate, which disappointed her. She shrugged, not wanting it to show, and took the plate back. She popped another piece in her mouth, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor. It was on the verge of being overripe. Another hour or day and it would have been too far gone. But here at the edge, it was perfect. She considered that thought: here at the edge.

Here at the edge of the world, at the edge of her sanity, at the edge of her soul, at the very edges of her heart. She stood at the edge of this man, poised for a coming change, poised to fly or fall.

She ate her portion of the fruit, leaving the rest for him. Sweetness lingered on her tongue, collecting in her belly. It was the ghost of past meals, afternoons in the market, late-night feasts. She stood and stretched, stiff from sitting cross-legged for too long.

Turning away from him, Sorcha worked to smooth her expression, not wanting him to see the turmoil racing across her features. From the night in the tent to discovering the empress was dead to the audience with Prince Eine, it had all been so much.

She crossed to the brazier and held her hands out, warming them, facing the light—ignoring the shadows cast behind her. If she had turned, she would have seen how her shadow fell across the desk, fell across him.

Waiting.

Waiting for him. Waiting for the map to vanish from her skin. Waiting to see how he might act in the daylight, when the sun was high, and they would be forced to face this thing between them in the light.

The mark of the Saint was slowly disappearing. Her body was being returned piece by piece. But it was an exchange, not a release. With each relic collected, she could feel him growing in her mind.

Still. Even then. A piece of her wanted to believe she would have a life of her own after this. That Adrian would change his mind about returning to the empire. That the whole damn world would change for them. But he could make no promises, and she could never keep them. All choice had been taken from her. The only thing she wanted for herself was Adrian.

What had they been before the audience with Prince Eine? Nothing. And after? Even less than nothing. They’d continued to share a tent, and Adrian rode beside her. But the strange, fierce thing that had grown between them had been driven back. Sorcha had no illusions. Though the details of the future remained uncertain, she knew in her heart what the ultimate outcome would be.

The Saint visited in her nightmares. His voice was growing at the back of her mind. No words, only intention. Vessel.

She shivered and shook the images of rubies and a burning sword away.

Sorcha wanted to go outside and stand in the cold until her fingers and toes numbed. She wanted a distraction from the way being near Adrian made her feel. They were connected by a tenuous thread, their eyes locked, hands reaching but never touching.

Without looking back, she stepped out of the tent. Adrian didn’t stop her. He knew she had nowhere else to go. That fact was still a wound. The home she’d been torn from, letting go of the temple and her previous life—her connection to it all—by force or personal will. She’d divested herself of that other Sorcha. A woman who had smiled easily and made friends quickly. Ines’s death had killed that Sorcha. The deaths in the Golden Citadel had ensured that version of herself would never return.

Not even the Saint himself would have been able to resurrect her.

Overhead, lights flowed and shifted across the sky. A blue and green aurora danced across the sky tonight—blue like sapphires and green as new mint in spring. The golden star in stark contrast to the rippling colors. Low as ever on the horizon, a constant reminder.

Sorcha wove past the campfire and the men gathered there, not stopping to see who they might be or who lingered at the edges on guard. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t stop her from roaming. She was positive that most, if not all, wanted her dead despite the prince’s edict. If she wandered out of camp and got lost in the wilderness, it would only make it easier for them. The horses were tied on the other side of camp, but she heard them rustling together in the dark.

A cold wind blew down from the mountains here, searching for travelers, seeking out the thin places in their clothes and getting close. She crossed her arms, trying to keep her body heat in and wishing she’d put the fur-lined cloak on instead of this one. If she had, she would have been able to avoid going back to the tent sooner. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Adrian. Not when he avoided her eyes and refused to acknowledge her in any meaningful way.

I will never leave you alone.

The Saint. His words or pure emotion. It was hard to be sure.

A scuff of boots made her turn. Adrian came out of the dark, carrying the fur-lined cloak she’d been wishing for. Without speaking, he draped it over her shoulders and stepped away, turning his face to the sky.

They stood together, but Sorcha felt more alone than before.

“Are you really going to pretend it didn’t happen?” Sorcha turned on him suddenly, throwing her hands in the air. “Really?”

“I swore an oath,” Adrian said, keeping his eyes on the sky.

“Why does that matter? Right now? I’m not asking for anything beyond this.” Sorcha spread her hands, taking in the landscape and golden star. “If the end result is the same, who cares how we got there?”

“Some would care.”

“The prince? Revenant?” When he didn’t respond, Sorcha nodded, a sour expression crossing her features. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about me.”

“Do you want me to drag you back and show you what I’ve been thinking about?”

Sorcha’s heart pounded, and she struggled to breathe. Yes. She wanted everything he could give her—pain as well as pleasure, heartache, and bottomless black joy. But not if he was going to be the empire’s Wolf. Not with her. He could be the villain in everyone else’s story, but not hers.

Or have I become a villain too? For wanting what I can’t keep? For wishing I could leave the Aureum Sanctus behind and leave the dead to rest? They’re counting on me. The Saint wants me. Sorcha bit her lip, wanting to scream with the pressure of it all. But I want Adrian.

“Adrian,” she whispered and reached for him, placing her hands against the hard contours of his chest.

There was nothing else she could say. His name was all that mattered. No other promises could be made.

He looked down, searching her face. For what, she didn’t know—would never know—because this man would only ever offer small pieces of his heart. And she didn’t have a right to claim even those. She stepped back, accepting that this was what they’d be until the resurrection. Endless nights spent sleeping beside each other, but only one of them mattered. It would have to be enough to carry her through whatever lay ahead—the last thing she’d ever chosen for herself.

“Goodnight,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “Tomorrow we can pretend we didn’t have this conversation either.”

He swore softly—the word brutal in the quiet—and reached her in a few quick steps, crushing her in his embrace. Their mouths met and locked, tongues caressing. Sorcha wove her fingers into his loose hair, pulling him down to her.

Take me, she pleaded silently. You can’t damage me any more than I already am.

* * *

“I’ve made the choice I have to.” Adrian fumbled with her clothes—hands rough, voice hungry. The fire in the brazier was almost dead, but faint light from the aurora penetrated the canvas tent, bathing them in an unearthly glow. “You know how this ends.”

But do you?

“Don’t talk,” Sorcha said as she helped him remove his tunic and ran her hands over his chest.

So many scars. She would never hear the stories behind each one, never hold him in the daylight when the world belonged to the living and nothing more important than a breakfast choice lay ahead. But she would take this.

Adrian leaned down and took one firm nipple into his mouth as he massaged her other breast. She leaned into him, head falling to his, as she smoothed his hair back. After a moment, he moved to the other nipple, his hand moving to her pussy and gently parting her, exploring her slick folds.

She moaned and tilted her hips toward him as he slipped a finger inside.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “So wet.”

She made a noise of agreement, struggling to think of anything clearly. He circled her clit, sucking on one nipple and then the other, sliding two fingers into her and stroking that inner place. Her knees buckled, and he held her up, fingers sliding in and out as she leaned into him. He moved to kneel, gripping her ass with one hand, ready to lick between her thighs.

“Wait,” she said, stopping him.

Sorcha knelt and tugged at the laces on his breeches, pushing them down and taking his underclothes with them. His cock was heavy in her hand as she stroked him. Leaning forward, she lickedthe head of his cock, swirling her tongue over him, a small noise of pleasure humming in her throat. Adrian’s hands were at his sides, and she grabbed them, placing them on her. He groaned, cradling the back of her head with one hand, the other cupping the side of her face.

He let her take her time, hips twitching, his grip tightening slowly.

She cupped his balls and stroked him with one hand, caressing the head of his cock with her mouth and tongue. He was close. She could feel it in his body, the way he tensed and clutched at her.

* * *

“Stop,” he murmured, hands in her hair, fighting the urge to fill her mouth. “Come here.”

Sorcha pulled away and placed a gentle kiss on the head of his cock, running her hand down the length of him again.He groaned, pulling her up and onto his lap, leaning back so she straddled him. She hovered above him, holding him and teasing him, his cock slipping through her arousal.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was husky voice, her pupils dilated.

“You,” Adrian whispered. You and only you, for as long as I can have you. But he didn’t say that.

Sorcha’s lips twitched upward—an eyebrow raised. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs, waiting for her response.

“Then take me.”

Adrian moved her hand and thrust up, sliding inside her warmth and filling her. She gasped, hands on his chest, staring down into his face.

Don’t look away, he thought. I want you to see what you do to me.

Sorcha rolled her hips, head back, hands on his thighs behind her. Adrian swallowed and gripped her hips, every muscle tense as he watched her—enraptured. He would have given her everything. Anything she asked. Burn the world. Kill the prince. Race across the continent until they reached the ocean and then keep going. Don’t stop. Her body tightened around him as her movements became frantic. Cupping her breasts, Adrian thrust up and massaged her soft flesh, pinching one hard nipple and then the other when she moaned. He hissed when her fingers dug into his thighs, her mouth falling open, brows drawn together as her release hovered.

“Come for me, Sorcha,” Adrian whispered. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

The orgasm ripped through her, and she bit the back of her hand, muffling her cries. Her other hand dug into his thigh as her rocking slowed and then stopped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were hazy, face relaxed, and body boneless. He loved to see her this way, without the weight of the future dragging them down, when he was inside her, and nothing mattered more than the way the world broke when she came.

Sorcha leaned forward into his arms with a sigh, her breasts pressed against his chest and body slick with sweat. He rolled her over, letting the furs fall aside. He cradled her head in the crook of his arm as he braced himself over her. He breathed her in, squeezing his eyes shut, committing to memory each sensation she pulled from him.He took his time, filling her slowly, but she tilted her hips up, urging him to move faster.

“We have all night,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m taking my time.”

She groaned, the sound soft and shivering across his skin, as her fingers dug into his waist. “I don’t have all night.”

Without hesitation, he rammed into her, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her cries. They moved together, her knees pressed against his sides. She tensed beneath him, head tipped back, and eyes closed. He wanted this to last, to feel her body tight around his, but he couldn’t stop. He came as she whispered his name, her voice almost drowned out by his breathing.

Adrian. Adrian. Adrian.

* * *

He might breathe and eat and kill after this was all done. He might find another woman to warm his bed at night. But it wouldn’t matter. He’d already be dead inside.

“When did your feelings change?” he asked, needing to know, wanting to hear her say the words.

For himself, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. But he could go back to the first time he’d seen her—surrounded by fire and falling buildings, angry and hating him the moment their eyes met. It had crept up on him. At first, he’d been able to mask it as duty. But now he had to be honest with himself—with her—that it had not only been following orders. The moment in the Silvas when they’d been chased by werewolves, pulling her over the cliff and into his arms, promising to never let go.

I’ve got you.

His stomach twisted, excitement and fear—her acceptance or rejection. When had she come to see him as something other than the monster he was? Her embrace had promised redemption, had shown him a path through the darkness of his own soul—through the hellscape he’d built his life in. Could he be worthy of her after all that? He’d embraced the darkness long ago, time and again, at each turn, taking it in instead of turning it away.

There had been so many situations where he could have chosen a different path. He could have broken away from the prince, the empire. He could have run like Finian. But he’d never considered anything other than what the prince offered. Even now, he knew there were things about himself that would never change—he would always be a monster.

Slowly, they’d built an uneasy understanding, desire lurking beneath the surface, delicate with each other—tentative. He was desperate to preserve it. Desperate not to see a look of disappointment or sadness in her eyes. The fear had vanished, and if it returned, he knew there would be no coming back from it. They would never be able to regain that ground between them. It would be like shutting a door and sealing it behind stone.

“When did my feelings change?” she mused, voice coming from a distance, somewhere deep inside where she examined each emotion one by one. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I could choose a single instance. You?”

“In the city, as it burned.”

He swallowed, unable to say more, holding his breath and waiting for her to speak again. Sorcha pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her arms. She considered the shifting lights of the aurora penetrating the canvas, absorbed, and he could not tear his eyes away from this woman who had stolen his heart. She’d run into the wild and carried it with her. He’d followed, unable to resist.

“We can make no promises,” she whispered.

Sorcha hesitated. Her tone held something else, hinted at more. She was holding it back, keeping a secret. She sat up, the furs falling away to reveal pale skin as she studied his face, drinking him in.

“I’m not asking for any.” He adjusted the bedding, the air cold against his skin. “You’ll freeze.”

She reached down and took his hand, placing it on her breast, and whispered, “So, keep me warm.”

Adrian pulled her down to him,covering her mouth with his own, and refused to think of anything other than this moment with Sorcha.