Page 130 of The Second Death of Locke
Ola snuggled in closer, stealing Grey’s warmth. “You know how I envy Nestria? Because they get to watch how everything plays out, before they decide?”
“Yes?” She didn’t know where Ola was going with this.
“Well, I absolutely, positively donotenvy you.”
Kier had not warded his door.
It was too soon to make up, and his anger was probably still burning bright like a live coal, but they would be back at war very soon, so she did not have time to give him to cool down.
She thought again of choices yet unmade. There had to be a third option to save the Isle, one that did not guarantee the loss of her freedom or the death of everyone she loved.
But she already had three choices to save Kier’s life, or take it, and she did not think she would find a loophole, nor seek another. What she had to do was work within the choices she was given—what she had to do was speak to the only person who knew her at all.
He slept curled on his side, as always, dimly outlined by the embers of the fire dying in the grate. Grey shut his door behind her and took off her boots and crawled into his bed with her damp clothes still on. He woke up instantly, pulling her close out of muscle memory beforehe remembered his fury. He released her, blinking warily.
“I’m sorry,” Grey said, kneeling in the space next to him. “You’re right. I should have asked you.”
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The blankets fell to his hips, revealing his bare stomach, his back. “You should’ve,” he agreed.
She looked at him unhappily. In six years, they had not gone longer than hours without talking to one another, let alone days. “I don’t want to fight anymore,” she said quietly.
He regarded her, seeing past all her protections, as he always did, then nodded, seemingly coming to some decision. She was not yet forgiven, but he was no longer irate.
He hesitated, then took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Have you slept?” he asked.
“No.”
“You should.”
“This is more important.” She drew a breath. “Kier, I would give everything in the world for you. Without a second thought.”
He leaned forward, moving his hand from hers to cup her cheek. “I know you would,” he said solemnly, “but you do not allow me to do the same.” His thumb skimmed her cheekbone. She turned her head to press a kiss to his palm.
“What is love, without freedom?” she murmured against his skin.
He leaned close to kiss her shoulder, then to whisper in her ear. “What is life, without you?”
She swallowed down the lump in her throat. She gripped Kier’s shoulders, strong and scarred, and pulled him against her. She kissed him hard, fitting her body to his. He was hesitant for the barest second before he rose up to meet her. She worshiped him with lips and teeth and tongue, breaking the kiss only long enough for him to pull her shirt over her head before his mouth was back against hers. She wrestled out of the rest of her damp clothes, fighting to get as close to him as possible.
She could barely think as he flipped them, pressing her back to the bed with his full weight. His hand slipped between her thighs, and she groaned as his teeth found her shoulder; she twisted her hands in his hair and pulled.
“Promise me,” he said as he positioned himself, the weight of hiships pressing hard against hers as he drew her knee up.
“Promise you what?” she gasped, digging her nails in, arching closer as he hesitated the barest distance from burying himself inside of her.
He leaned up onto one elbow so he could see her face. “Do not give up your power for me,” he murmured, and she felt every muscle in his body still as he waited for her answer.
She ghosted her thumb over the scar on his lip, up over the ridge of his crooked nose, then under his eye. “I will not give up my power,” she said, the words catching in her throat.
He kissed her, bearing her down into the bed, and there was nothing further left to say.
“Will you tell me how it happened?” he murmured against her skin. His head rested on her breast, her fingers carding through his hair. They both needed to sleep, but she couldn’t bear the idea of closing her eyes. “When I died?”
She swallowed hard, fighting against the instant lump in her throat, but she owed him this. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
He ran a hand along her side, trailing over her waist, her hip, her thigh. “I want to know whatever you will tell me. What youcantell me.”
She stared up at the ceiling, the shadows of this room as familiar to her as anywhere on this Isle was—which was to say, as familiar as her own heart, and just as painful.
