Page 62 of Fading Sun

I glance over my shoulder at the portal, hoping Amber and Damien will step through and snap me out of this.

They don’t.

“Maybe we should go back for them,” I say to Blaze.

“I’m sure they won’t be long.” He walks over to the tree, pulls the dagger out of its trunk, and saunters back to the place where he was throwing it from. But he puts more distance between himself and the tree now, challenging himself, seeing how far he can push himself.

Another perfect throw.

I swallow hard, the weight of the dagger in my weapons belt suddenly more pronounced. It’s like it’s reminding me it’s there, urging me to follow the wind’s suggestions.

It would be so easy. Because Blaze’s enchanted dagger is in the tree now—not on him.

But I’ll need to be stealthy about it. Quick.

Catch him by surprise.

My plan forms quickly, egged on by the wind’s whispers, each gust echoing the urgency of the moment.

“Can we talk?” I ask Blaze softly, my voice steadier than I feel.

He stops halfway toward the tree and turns to face me, his expression unreadable.

“Sure,” he says. “Talk.”

As he waits, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Confusion? Suspicion?

It’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by the stoic mask he’s been wearing since finding out I was also a blood witch.

Slowly, I close the distance between us.

He stands there, watching me, not moving. The air stills, and time slows, as if the entire world hinges on this moment.

“I was thinking...” I say when I reach him, standing only a breath away.

My heart pounds, my hands shaking.

What am I doing? I care about him. He’s saved my life—twice.

This might be the only time you’re alone with him while he’s not near the dagger, the whispers intrude on my thoughts again. He’s not the same man who saved your life. The longer he has the dagger and the quill, the more dangerous he’ll get.

“Thinking about what?” he asks, his voice low.

I expect him to move away. To remind me how much he hates me.

By some miracle, he doesn’t.

I reach up, my hand brushing his cheek, both of our skin hot despite the bitingly cold air around us.

“About us,” I say steadily, not breaking the moment. “About everything we’ve been through. How I’ll be eternally grateful for the fact that I’m here now, alive, because of you.”

His eyes soften, and for the first time in ages, it’s like he sees me. Really, truly sees me.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, and before I can second-guess myself, I stand up on my toes and press my lips against his.

It’s electric. Far more intense than I prepared for.

It’s also desperate. A mingling of fear, guilt, and unspoken apologies. And as he pulls me closer, my heart revels in the connection, the closeness, the need for something real amidst the never-ending chaos my life has slowly become.

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