Page 66 of The Dead Saint

Yes.

She shook the thought away, but it was replaced with the flash of Adrian in the dark at the ruined temple when he’d held her so close and promised to protect her from all the other monsters in the world. Each dream, each nightmare, held his shadowy figure, his hand outstretched and waiting. But she couldn’t force him to take something he didn’t want. Because of duty. Loyalty.

Adrian’s hand clamped on her shoulder, and he jerked her back against his chest. Sorcha yelped in surprise. He brought his hand over her mouth—bare palm to mouth—as his other hand slid around her waist. His lips brushed her ear, and she shivered, nipples tightening, stomach dropping away in a rush.

“Sorcha.” Adrian’s voice was rough—full of tension. “Be quiet.”

A rush of blood filled her ears, leaving a buzz and throb as the hand over her mouth slid down. He took his time, pressed against her, following the curve of her throat. She gripped his arm and squeezed her eyes shut as he paused, praying to everything holy and unholy in the world that he wouldn’t stop.

He spun her around, leaving her dizzy with movement, eyes still shut. The night sounds beyond the canvas disappeared. Nothing mattered more than his hands on her and the way she melted into him, ready and willing to accept damnation.

“Open your eyes.”

Sorcha did, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, afraid suddenly that she would see rejection there despite the desire radiating from him. She trembled, longing and anticipation warming her veins. Adrian slid a hand into her hair and jerked her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

She gasped, and the moment she opened her mouth, he kissed her.

The world narrowed down to his mouth on hers, with one hand on her backside and the other still in her hair. His tongue swept across her bottom lip and into her mouth, forcing her to open for him. A whimper escaped her throat, and he groaned, tightening his grip on her.

The world stopped as she clung to him. Everything in her body screamed yes. The last few weeks vanished from her mind. None of it mattered. The only thing that made any sense was his mouth claiming hers.

His hands wove deeper into her hair and tilted her head, deepening the kiss. She pressed her body against his, holding tight. She gripped his shoulders, gasping as he ground against her. Adrian kissed her as if the world were ending and death would take them at any moment. Sorcha tipped her head back as his lips moved along her jaw, mouth brushing her ear.

“We have to stop,” he whispered.

“Why?”

Her heart beat frantically in her chest—rapid, running away from what was coming next. Gently she placed a hand against his cheek, rough with a few days of stubble, and closed her eyes.

Adrian didn’t move, keeping his face pressed into her hair and one hand fisted in the fabric of her dress.

Sorcha froze, hands falling from his shoulders even as he held her tight. When she moved, he released her instantly, leaving her cold as she stepped away and kept her back to him. The little fire in the brazier flickered, low and deeply orange, on the verge of plunging them into the dim shadows of early night.

“Because you don’t want me?” she asked softly.

“Because you are the vessel and I am the Wolf.”

Chapter Nineteen

Epona’s ears twitched back and forth—aware of Sorcha’s uneasy mood. Daylight had changed nothing at all. She was still the vessel, and he was still the Wolf, a creature of the empire. What had happened between them could mean nothing, though it had changed everything. The path they were on, set by a madman, was inescapable.

Sorcha had woken to find Adrian gone from the tent, and she’d lain awake in the nest of furs listening to the Black Tomeis as they broke down camp and prepared for a long day in the saddle. She’d heard his voice long before he entered the tent, and she’d known how he would handle the situation. He hadn’t disappointed her, though a small part had hoped for something else. But what could there be? What could he offer her? There was nothing.

He’d handed her a bowl of gelatinous, cooling porridge, holding her gaze for a long moment before giving her a single nod. As if their fate had been decided already. She supposed it had been.

Now they were riding toward the next location on the map. Her hand strayed to her shoulder that had depicted where the last relic had been found, and she wondered how long it would take before they reached the next one. Sorcha couldn’t remember a time when her skin had been her own. It had always belonged to the temple. Over the years, tattoos had bloomed across her skin like flowers and vines. She had no idea how it would feel not to be the vessel.

Still, they hadn’t found the relic in the temple ruins where they’d faced the werewolves. That tattoo was still on her skin. Maybe it always would be. It wasn’t the only one though. She’d hidden the tattoo on her hip from the Mapmaker as well. And there were many more relics—some in well-known temples and others hidden but never added to her flesh. They hadn’t had time to continue the map once the Citadel had been besieged.

How would this impact the coming resurrection? Sorcha had no idea. Anger flared through her as the questions circled and built upon each other. There were so many and no way at all to get any answers.

Again, her thoughts returned to Kahina Kira. What had happened to her? One evening she’d been in the temple and the next morning gone. No one had seen her come or go. No one believed she would have gone to Prince Eine. Maybe Kira had found some secret place where she could make the final choice of her life in peace.

When—not if—Sorcha resurrected the Saint, she would see Kira again. Then Sorcha could ask about what had happened. And she could ask about the tattoos. She would ask every single question she’d ever lain awake at night considering. Soon she would meet the Saint. His voice in her head would finally have form and shape, ring crystal clear through the air. Maybe he would answer all her questions.

Sorcha glanced at Adrian, heat touching her cheeks, pooling in her lower belly. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he felt it too—he was as aware of her as she was of him.

The men were riding far ahead or behind them today. Revenant led a group scouting the overgrown road they traveled, and Domenico and the others brought up the rear to make sure nothing surprised them.

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