Page 23 of Light

“I beg your pardon. Were you going to say something or simply stand in my hallway staring at me all night?”

At that, he looked properly chastised, and she grinned.

“No.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. “No, you weren’t going to say anything, or no, you weren’t intent on barricading my path?”

“You were injured. I came to see you had recovered.”

Adalaide arched a brow, waiting for him to say more, to elaborate on his sudden concern for her welfare after leaving her in Jophiel’s care for weeks. When he said nothing, she sighed.

“As you can see,” she waved a hand down her body, “I’m quite well. You may return to your life as it were before we met.”

He pursed his lips, looking her up and down, and she could have sworn he was on the verge of some revelation equally as devastating as the one he’d laid upon her the night he entered her home and declared himself her soulmate.

Instead, he dipped his head, giving her a shallow bow. “Very well. Good evening, Adalaide.”

A strangled sob caught in her throat.

His wings vibrated, and he took one step toward her.

She held her breath.

He took another step, closing the distance between them, and lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the bare skin of her knuckles.

Every nerve in her body sizzled, zeroing in on the place where his skin met hers. My light in eternal darkness. She heard the words as clearly as if he’d spoken them. His fingers tightened around hers, and he looked up, black pools dragging her into their depths.

She was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

He released her hand, shaking his head and dissolving into nothing.

She gasped, spinning in a circle, but he was gone. The ache in her chest throbbed in hollow longing. He had left her alone. Again.

Chapter 19

Gabriel

Gabriel landed just outside the arched frame of his room and stepped in.

He dropped heavily into the chair beside his hearth and released his first real breath since she’d stepped out into the hallway and called his name.

Why did his name on her tongue make him want to fall at her feet and beg for her to say it again? Why did the frantic tumble of her thoughts so enthrall him? But that brilliant mind of hers had settled heavily on their last encounter. On his rejection.

He’d understood in that moment that the pain felt since meeting her was his soul warning him of the treacherous fate awaiting him if he rejected her for good. And that was what he’d intended. The moment she’d considered rejecting him, she’d felt the same pain.

He would have to be the one to let her go. To spare her the suffering that came with it, he would keep his distance. The thought sent an echo of pain through him. He had been weak to go there. To see her.

He’d meant to ward her home, see she was safe, and leave, but he had lost track of time. Wrapped in his arms, she had soothed the sharp edges of all he’d suffered that week. Selfishly, he longed to cherish the feeling just a bit longer.

When she woke, he should have left, but he hadn’t the strength. And when his name spilled from her lips, he was undone.

He’d had a fleeting moment of elation, forming a mad plan to convince her to bond. He would do it then and there, ensuring whatever outcome. She would join him in Alaxia when her mortal form expired, but after a night in her mind, reliving her worst moments, he knew how selfish it would be. She deserved to be at peace, to rest with her mother—and perhaps even her father—when she died.

Even now, he wrestled with his selfish desire to make her his.

A knock in his doorway brought him out of his dark thoughts.

“Brother, we mount an offensive within the hour and could use your aid,” Chamuel said from just outside the door.

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