Page 66 of Between Smoke and Shadow

Harrick lowers his gaze. His hands are still on my face, his fingers tense along my jaw. When he looks back at me, there’s something tortured in his expression.

“He did, Rune,” he says, words trembling. “You were cold and limp, and your eyes…they just stared off into nothing?—”

Harrick breaks off. He opens his mouth, but rather than words, a horrible choking sound comes out. He closes his eyes, the tears are already falling, trailing silently down his cheeks. My heart pitches at the sight, even as my mind reels from what he’s said.

“Harrick,” I say. I place my shaking hands on his shoulders, begging him closer. “I don’t understand.”

Without answering, Harrick crashes against me. He rotates us until I’m straddling his lap and he’s clutching me to his chest. His hands roam my body, brushing up and down my spine, over my sides, keeping me as close as physically possible. His lips press against my forehead, my temple, the curve of my ear.

I have no idea what’s going on, only that I want to make him feel better. I curl closer to his chest, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. As his breaths slowly even out, I place a tentative kiss to the side of his throat. I’ve never been so bold, and I’ve certainly never been the one to initiate affection, but I’m desperate to make things okay.

I press another, this time letting my tongue taste his skin. It’s meant to be comforting, distracting, to take us from whatever haunts him and back to the kissing from before. Instead, Harrickstills beneath me. His hands clench my hips, as if to stop me from moving.

I do.

“Fuck,” he groans. I can feel him growing hard beneath me, but he seems unexpectedly displeased with that. “Hold on a second.Fuck.”

I pull back from him. Without meaning to, I look down at our bodies, separated only by my coverall and his pants. I can see the thick outline of his erection, and a flutter of excitement courses through me. He’s turned on, whether by me specifically or this position. I rub my hips against him without fully deciding to, and he hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry,” I say. I try to move from his lap, but his hands tighten their hold.

“Don’t be,” he says, teeth still gritted. “You’re fucking perfect. I just—I need to make sure you’re okay first.”

“I am,” I say. I bite down on my lip, asking the question I know I should, but still don’t want to. “How am I okay, Harrick? You said I looked dead, but I feel the best I ever have.”

“You didn’t look dead,” Harrick says, choking the words out. “Youweredead. He killed you, and I—I didn’t know what to do. I gave you magic, Rune. I had to, just enough to get you breathing. I have no idea if I gave you too much or not enough, but the worst had happened. I had to do something. There’s a chance it could still go wrong, so I need you to be completely honest with me. If you’re experiencing any pain or anything strange at all…”

He trails off, and I study his face. Only now do I notice there’s a paleness to his skin that wasn’t there before. He looksunwell, which is such a foreign concept I didn’t know to look for it. The heir, the Architect’s strongest descendant and Savoa’s greatest hope, looks sickly because he gave magic to a random, indebted servant girl.

I let out a strangled sob. I’d been in the process of betraying him, and he’d risked his life to save mine. Sorace has to know what Harrick did to save me, and once the Committee finds out, I’ll be killed. And worse, I’ve hurt Harrick in the process.

Ruining someone from the crown should be a good thing, but I’ve never hated myself more. My hands shake as I absorb too much information at once. Harrick is sogood, and it’s being wasted on me.

“What were you thinking?” I whisper. I look over his entire body now. He’s dressed in the same suit from days ago, the shirt wrinkled. His hair is messed up, as if he’s been laying at the foot of my bed for days. I realize he probably has. “What were you thinking, Harrick? That could have killed you.”

I want him to correct me, to say giving mortals magic is easy, something they’ve been doing for cycles.

“There was a chance,” he admits after a long pause. His face twists with a grimace. “I didn’t have another choice.”

“You should have left me,” I snap. There’s an unexpected punch of horror and guilt racing through my organs, and the panic is strong enough I don’t hold back. “I was already dead! You didn’t need to do anything. Of course you had choices, Harrick! You should have left me.”

“Never,” he whispers. He pulls me closer, until my head is against his chest again. I tense as he touches me, not because I think he’s going to hurt me, but because I know it’s the last thing he would do. He’s too good, and I don’t deserve it.

He strokes the back of my hair, fingers gently tangling through it. He touches me as if I’m precious.

“Harrick,” I say. My next words feel like blades up my throat, but I can’t keep myself from denying the truth any longer. He’s genuine and good, risking himself for the life of a lowly, indebted servant. He hasn’t asked where I was or what I was doing in the City, when he surely must be wondering. He has only beenworried aboutme,whether I am okay, and not whether I deserve his help. I sit back, forcing him to look at me. “You will be the one to save Savoa. I can feel it. The people here, they need you too much for you to risk your life for someone who doesn’t matter. I’m not worth?—”

I’m interrupted by the crash of his mouth against mine. He kisses me with an urgency I’ve never experienced. He is a man suffocating, and I’m his final breath. His lips part mine, tasting me, devouring me. His calloused fingers tilt my jaw the way he wants, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He’s confident and commanding, growing bolder with each touch of his lips. And yet, it feels like he’s losing control of himself, like he’s losing himself tome.

I shudder against his touch, suddenly impatient for more. I give into my base instincts, moving my hips against his, feeling the hard ridge of his cock with each stroke. I twist my hands into his hair, and when I moan, I’m too frenzied to be embarrassed.

He grabs my hips, urging me faster and harder against him. Then he’s breaking away, rotating me beneath him, planting kisses down the column of my throat. I writhe, so desperate for him I’m not thinking of anything but his touch.

“More,” I say, and it comes out like a plea.

Harrick pulls back, his eyes dark with lust and desire, but also something tender, gentle.

“More,” he echoes. He kisses my neck again, leisurely, before whispering against my skin. “Tell me what you need, Rune.”

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