Page 24 of The Other Side of the Mirror

It was too much. Too much at once…too much tocontrol?—

I heard Bash bellow, “LET GO OF IT,” as if from far away. And it was all I could do to fling a twisting pillar of darkness away from me, blindly hitting the rocky ledge overhead.

Bash swore as the ridge shook, a large piece of rock cracking off and rolling toward us at stunning speed. Before I could even think about moving, he slammed into me, knocking me out of its deadly path.

A shield of shadow surrounded us like a dusky bubble. Bash had pinned me underneath him, his arms wrapped around me—one hand under my head, the other on the small of my waist. His thigh was tucked between mine, and I could feel my cheeks grow warm at all the interesting places our bodies pressed together.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

“Keeping that boulder from crushing you,” he said huskily, his thunderous heartbeat utterly at odds with his languid drawl.

Neither of us moved to let go of the other. Even as the forest quieted, Bash still cradled me in a way I couldn’t remember ever having been held before. I should have told him to stop, but I was lost in the feeling of him pressed up against me, the shallow rise and fall of his chest against mine. His heart hammered within it, and my own matched its urgent rhythm. There was something sinful about his body over me. The heat of him nestled between my thighs…

“You can get off me now,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. His irises swirled as his eyes locked onto mine, and?—

Was his hand stroking my hair?

He made a low sound, somewhere between a grunt and a growl, a muscle quivering in his jaw. Then he pulled his hand back so quickly it was like he had been burned, depositing me back on my feet before turning away. That same hand buried into his hair.

My gaze traveled over his naked back, his muscles tensing as he heard me step closer. I knew he felt the undercurrent between us. The silent communication that I refused to let myself translate.

But there was a bloody scrape along the underside of his forearm—where he had cushioned my fall. Bash caught the direction of my gaze as he glanced back at me. “It’ll be fine soon. Fae heal more quickly than what you’re probably used to.”

“Glad to hear you’ll be able to put your shirt back on,” I said lamely, trying to echo Yael’s distaste from earlier.

But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way the muscles of Bash’s abdomen seemed to multiply endlessly as he twisted toward me. When I looked up, my cheeks heated even more when I realized he was smirking shamelessly. I cupped my hand to the base of my throat, as though it might hide the flush I could feel spreading there.

“You sure about that, hellion?”

His suggestive tone sent a shiver of pleasure straight through me.

All at once, I became aware of how close he still stood. My retort died on my tongue, my hand reaching out like I was in a trance. Bash closed his eyes as my fingers touched his bare chest, his breathing ragged…before he took a swift step backwards, my hand hanging midair.

I closed my eyes, cursing silently.

What a stupid, obvious mistake.

“Let’s get back to camp,” Bash said sharply, looking away. “We should make it to Imyr tomorrow,Princess.”

I bristled at the term he made sound more like an insult than a royal title. “I’m not?—”

The realization of why he used that word hit me. It did make sense—because I was apparently destined to marry a prince.

I prefer hellion, I thought ruefully. Though I refused to acknowledgethatparticular thought aloud.

“You will be soon,” he said dully. “Come on. We should get back to the others.”

But it occurred to me that I never asked him what I had meant to from our conversation the night before. “With your parents gone, who rules Imyr now?”

Bash winced, and I immediately regretted my bluntness.

“Right now, Marin is running things while I’m gone. Rivan’s mother is advising her on anything she can’t handle…not that I think there’s anything she can’t handle,” he amended quickly. He scratched his neck, and I realized how rare it was to see him as anything less than composed. I arched an eyebrow, and he let out a sigh. “The line of succession has nothing to do with birth order in our world and everything to do with your breadth of power. And since my magic’s Celestial…”

“So youareroyalty.”

“The Fae King of Imyr, ruler of the Southlands and protector of the Faewilds.” He said it in a matter-of-fact way that left me gaping. Even though I had known what was coming, it was another thing entirely to hear it from his lips. He turned in the direction of our camp. “Marin is my second-in-command, and Rivan and Yael are my top generals, my closest advisors, and the backbone of my court. Each kingdom has its royalty, though we all bow to the High King or Queen.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Shall we?”

But when I took a step up the hill, I spotted something glistening a bright ethereal turquoise from the tree line. A lake.

---