Page 97 of The Bond That Burns

I tried again, knocking harder.

And then, finally, “Please. Open the door please.”

The door swung open abruptly and there she stood. Tear-streaked and blotchy. Her eyes red and puffy. She was beautifulin a way that made my limbs weak and my heart hurt. For once, I had no mocking grin, no teasing remark.

“What do you want, Blake?” Her voice was raw and tired. “What could you possibly want right now?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. I didn’t quite know what I wanted. All I knew was that the sight of her like this was unbearable.

“I don’t know.” My voice was low and rough. “I just...don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Her breath hitched and she let out a choked sob. That sound. It shattered something inside of me.

Without thinking, I stepped forward,

And then she was in my arms, melting against me, her fists clutching my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her standing.

I kicked the door closed behind me, shutting out the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I pressed my lips to her temple, her hair, every spot I could find, as she buried her face in my chest, her shoulders shaking. “I’m so damn sorry.”

She didn’t reply, but slowly she looked up at me.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her voice quavering. But her hands grabbed the fabric of my shirt even tighter, pulling me closer.

“I know,” I whispered back. “You hate me.”

Deep down, I knew hatred was all I’d ever deserve from her.

I leaned down, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. Every wet spot I could find, every tear. I kept kissing her, because if that was all I could give her at that moment, I’d give it all.

I kissed her like she was the air I needed to breathe. Gently, reverently. As if I could somehow piece her back together with the touch of my lips.

She trembled against me, her breathing coming faster. I wanted nothing more than to take away all of her hurt and replace it with something—anything—better.

My heart slammed against my chest as she pulled back and tilted her head to look up at me, her red-rimmed eyes searching mine.

“Blake,” she said, her voice somewhere between anger and despair.

I cupped her face with both hands, my thumbs brushing away fresh tears as they fell. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” My jaw tightened. “They can all go to fucking hell, Pendragon. Nothing is going to happen to your friend. I swear it.”

She lifted her head, her lips colliding with mine, hesitantly at first, then more urgently, like the breaking of a dam. The kiss was fervent, desperate. Like she was trying to claw her way out of her own misery and find something solid.

Her fingers slid over my chest, then lower. She tugged at the fabric of my shirt, her fingers curling in the waistband of my trousers.

“Off,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?” I breathed, pulling back to search her face.

She nodded, her gaze steady, even as her lips quavered.

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside.

Her fingers trailed over my chest, over the snaking black dragon tattoos inscribed there, as if hesitant but curious. I shivered under her touch, every nerve in my body attuned to her.

“Why are you...” She stopped, swallowing hard.

“What?” I asked, gently brushing a damp curl off her face. “Why am I what?”

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