Page 58 of Heat of the Everflame

“I found you,” he murmured.

My heartbeat thundered so loudly I thought he might hear it, or at least feel it in the pulse of charged silence that hummed between us. His gaze rose tentatively to my face, and mine to his.

There was no more mask, no facade or armor to shield his heart. It lay open before me, raw and vulnerable, mine to take—or to wound.

The woman he loves, Taran had called me.

When Henri had spoken that word to me for the first time, it had sent me into a panic. It had made me pull away and question everything. I’d loved Henri, but—did I love himenough?Did he truly understand me? Could I be the woman he wanted, and could he be the man I needed? Did we share the same dreams, the same goals, were we walking the same path—were we even walking the same direction?

I’d run from those questions, and from Henri, because deep in my heart, I’d already known the answer wasno.Even before I knew I was Descended, before he and I were pushed apart by a Crown and a war, something between us had always been a little bit wrong.

But the man before me now was not Henri. And I was not running.

And when I stared at the proof of his affection glowing before me in tangible, irrefutable form, everything about it feltright.

I laid my hand on top of his and snapped the compass shut, then slid it back into the pouch on his belt and pulled the drawstring closed. My palms flattened against his waist, then slid over the hard planes of his muscled torso, pausing over his chest until I felt the steady beat beneath his skin.

“My heart desires you too, Luther Corbois.”

There was one perfect, beautiful moment of stillness as my words sank into him.

Then he grinned, and I was in his arms. He hauled me into the air and wrapped my legs around his waist, both of us unable to restrain our smiles even as our lips met in a joyous dance.

“How long do you think we have until they return?” I breathed between kisses.

“Not long enough,” he mumbled, though his broad hands clenched around my thighs as he carried me toward the hollow.

The crack of a twig snapping beneath a boot cut through the silence. I broke the kiss and groaned. “Back already?”

“Keep walking, Taran,” Luther called out loudly. “I’m still considering roasting you on a spit.”

His mouth worked its way to my neck, drawing a soft moan from me as my eyes fluttered closed and my fingers snaked into his hair.

Another sound rang out—dried leaves crunching under heavy footsteps.

Several footsteps.

Too manyfootsteps.

“Cousin.”

Taran’s voice had none of its usual mirth. It was quiet. Strained.

Luther went still, and my eyes flew open. Near the fire, Taran stood with his hands in the air, surrounded by a circle of brown-eyed men. Their spears were tipped in glittering black points that hovered inches from his chest.

My blood ran cold as Vance emerged from the shadows.

“Shameful, Your Majesty.” His tongue clicked disapprovingly. “What will your betrothed think?”

Chapter

Fourteen

Vance smiled at the terror spreading across my face. The left arm of his tunic hung mostly empty, tied off at the elbow, and angry red skin peeked out from the bandages coating his neck. His features twisted in a cruel glare that radiated raw hatred.

Luther didn’t move, his back still to the campfire. “Guardians?” he whispered in my ear. I nodded subtly. “Alixe?”

My eyes darted around the woods. More men had emerged from the trees, a few of them carrying godstone blades or crossbows.

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