Page 38 of Immortal Sins
A furious, rapid rhythm beats in my chest. Thistechnicalityis starting to sound like a fairytale. My forever might not last as long as his, but it’ll besomething. You can’t forget your first wife, can you?
He laces and unlaces our hands like he can’t quite stand still.
“If it’s so harmless, why are you so eager?” I ask.
Energy ripples off him in waves. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Maybe you just want to own me.”
His jaw ticks. “Maybe you just want to be remembered.”
The statement tugs and twists at a deep, private wound inside my chest. The hidden desire rings true and vain and ugly, like a mortal’s claim on eternity. Futile, and yet irresistible.
I do want to be remembered. If I do this, I’ll be the first mortal to marry a Fae, the first earthling let into Seelie royalty.
A legend or a fool, but worthy of history either way.
That’s almost enough to justify this folly, but not quite. I free my hands, about to refuse, when Cole’s forehead touches mine.
Lids fluttering shut, he squeezes the nape of my neck with such care that I shudder. His chest heaves like the oxygen has been sucked from the room. “I’m a Fae prince. I’m expected to mess around until I’m fifty, then properly court a high-ranking Fae woman—or several—for a decade or two until I’m ready to start a family. With you, everything is different. I’ll never have enoughtime. I’ve fallen hard and fast for you, against my better judgement and—let’s face it—my survival instinct. Youburnme, Jules Winslow.”
The first woman Cole ever loved…
“I do want to be remembered. Most of all by you,” I admit.
“And I need the whole world to know you’re mine,” he breathes.
The darkest, blackest parts of our souls are exposed. A desperate haste in his kisses loosens the spikes of uncertainty embedded in my heart. This is insane.
Impossible.
“Okay,” I whisper.
A shaky breath passes through his parted lips. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” The strangled acknowledgement spirals in my veins.
“By the Dark Gods and all their damned children, you guys are serious!” Flynn shouts from the pillow. His fist clenches around the edge of the duvet like it’s somehow responsible for what just happened. “Fucking hell.”
16
THE ASTUTE REDHEAD
Jeremy’s pale, shivering body lies on the infirmary bed. The private room, which housed Olson for many weeks, seems too small for the wolf’s stature. The door creaks shut behind me, and Lydia Hawks twitches in her seat next to the werewolf, her small hand laced in his.
“How is he?” I ask quietly.
Her red-rimmed eyes betray her current state of mind, but she appears calm and collected when she says, “The same. The fever won’t relent.”
“What’s the diagnosis?”
“They won’t tell me a thing,” she spits.
The venom in her voice surprises me—I didn’t think those two were still dating.
Daniel ignored my messages, busy with the Magisterium and my mother, but I need answers. I’ve heard enough from their hushed conversations to know that Jules stole the horn. The fire was a diversion, and Lydia and Jeremy must have helped her. Jules had been spending so much time at Jeremy’s recently; it only makes sense. If I can piece together where she went and find her before her involvement becomes public knowledge, before it’s too late, I might be able to help her.
Sweat rolls down Jeremy’s face, and he whimpers.
