YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO WAIT FOR US,” I SAID TO FEDRIK.
The streets were empty at the strange hour—too late for the now- weary revelers, too early for the morning risers. We were alone save
for a sleeping beggar and a stray tabby cat. I could smell the freshly caught fish and garden-grown kumquats from the nearby taverns, and I sucked in a lungful.
“I was too worried to go back with your brother and friend,” Fedrik said, placing a hand on the small of my back. Griffin pushed off a stone column he had been leaning against to walk beside us. His expression was tight, being stuck outside with Fedrik clearly not how he wished to spend his night.
Fedrik guided me down a narrow alley on the way back to the palace. I had hoped his palm against my back might soothe me, or elicit something pleasant, but it didn’t. Only that same suffocating hollowness settled back into my bones.
“What happened in there?” he asked.
“We got a map to the blade,” Kane said to him, stepping into pace beside
us.
Kane wiped his brow against the temperate night air. His shirt was
coming unbuttoned and revealed a glistening, broad chest, and his sleeves had been rolled up to allow for seamless violence. His raven hair, so befitting of his namesake, curled at his neck from the humidity. A petrifying nightmare and bewitching dream all at once.
“And,” he continued, with that tilted, murderous curve of his lips, “I killed Crawford.”
Words lodged in my throat. Was he gloating? Fedrik looked bewildered.
“Told you,” Griffin huffed to Fedrik.
We weaved through a couple of disheveled fishermen making their way home from a tavern after what—given the rich odor of rum that permeated the air as we neared them—must have been a raucous night of heavy drinking.
Jealousy swamped me. I wouldn’t have minded another glass of that orange wine myself.
“For men who could be tried for murder, you both seem quite glib.” Prince Fedrik’s words were coy but his tone was cutting. I stepped closer to him, and Kane studied the movement as if it were a personal insult.
“For someone who just lost a gambling buddy,” Kane said, “you don’t seem all that bereft.”
“He wasn’t my buddy. He was my parents’ friend.”
“I didn’t know there was a difference,” Kane hissed, and then, before Fedrik could defend himself, “You weren’t aware he traded stolen goods?”
“You think petty thieves deserve to be murdered? You really are as ruthless as they say.”
“The trafficking of young Mer girls isn’t petty thievery.”
I shut out the unfathomable images that flooded my mind. Fedrik, too, said nothing, rendered silent by disgust.
Kane only nodded, his eyes cold on the prince. “Some ruler of the kingdom you are. Commander Griffin can escort you back to the castle. I require my healer’s assistance.” Kane lifted his hand to us, knuckles bloody.
Fedrik turned in my direction. “Do you need me to stay?” “She’s fine,” Kane thundered.
But Fedrik’s eyes stayed on mine, and an incomprehensible giggle nearly burst from me. Maybe at the raw fury Kane would unleash if I said yes. Or maybe at the naive idea that if Kane wanted to hurt me, there was anything at all Fedrik could do to stop him.
“He’s right,” I finally said. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Fedrik lifted my hand to his mouth, pressed a single kiss there, and retreated to the palace without so much as a look to Kane. Griffin watched him go but made no move to follow.
“Pathetic,” Kane spat.
Under flaming turquoise streetlamps, the city was bathed in uneven tones of blue and black and gold that painted him like angry brushstrokes.
I folded my arms against the wind as it sailed through the city streets. “What is? Leaving when I asked? Respecting someone’s wishes? Can you even fathom such a thing?”
“No,” he snarled. “Not when it comes to your safety.”
“Clearly the only thing I need to be kept safe from is you.” I gestured to the café and the dead body that was still cooling within its walls.
Kane sighed, drawing a hand over his forehead. “He had to die.” “Funny, I’ve heard you say that before.”
“Probably because it was true.”
“Or because you get off on it. Because you’re sick.”
He prowled toward me, eyes black. Pure poison black. When he was so close I could smell his leather and sweat, he murmured, “I’ll show you what I fucking get off on.”
“All right,” Griffin cut in, jolting me and slicing the tension between us.
I had forgotten he was standing there. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” “Go home, Griffin,” Kane snarled, eyes never leaving my pursed lips.
“We’re fine.”
“You could have turned Crawford in to the king and queen. Why did you murder him?” I pressed. “Do you like it?”
“He knew who you were. He also traded little Mer girls like candies to his friends. You don’t think a man like that deserves death?”
I spun on my heel with his words and walked away from the narrow courtyard, out into the wider street where I could breathe. “That’s not the point. You will always find the worst men and kill them. Not because they deserve it, but because you want to hurt.”
Kane matched my pace, Griffin having already moved ahead, tired of our ongoing arguments.
I was tired of them, too.
“And then what?” Kane pushed. “Are you going to rescue every frightened person who says please, only to have one of them turn around and stab you in the back?”
“There’s nothing wrong with showing compassion. I wouldn’t expect someone as savage as you to understand that.”
“You know what? That’s fine. Be angry with me. I’m angry with myself. About Siren’s Bay, the prophecy, your mother—”
I stopped in my tracks. “Don’t you dare bring her up—”
“I welcome your anger. I even enjoy it. It’s far better than watching you drift through life like a ghost. So unleash it all on me. I can take whatever you throw at me. Just stop putting yourself in danger to feel something.”
Shame constricted my throat. “Dangerous situations like what?”
“Like drinking recklessly, provoking Crawford, stripping down—you’re going to end up dead in your pursuit to feel alive.”
“You think I want something bad to happen to me?”
“I’m starting to think that’s exactly what you’re after.”
“That’s not true—I’m not—you have no idea who I am.” I tried to sidestep him, nearly colliding with his chest. I realized we were alone, the only sounds were the distant crashing of waves and the chirping of crickets in the cypress trees.
“Don’t I? I know your fears. I know what you pray for. I know how you like to be touched, how you taste . . .”
His eyes filled with something raw and primal, and I raised my hand to strike him, to channel my fury into a tangible act. But he caught my fist in mid-air, his grip firm, as he stepped closer, overwhelming my senses.
“I let you do that once, bird,” he whispered. “It won’t happen again.” We were pressed close, his body warm and unyielding. His thumb gently stroked my clenched fist, and I hummed involuntarily at the sensation.
His eyes were devoid of any light, predatory and dark. I admitted to myself how much I had missed his presence, his scent, his muscled chest—a comforting yet deadly power.
But now there was more. A need to ride the wave of pure heat, the rush expanding my lungs, the fire coursing through my veins as he looked at me with a mix of lust and something deeper—I was captivated by it, a bit insatiable.
I rose onto my toes, wanting to feel that solid, thick pressure against my stomach just a little lower. The friction at my core as I pressed myself against him drew another hum from my lips.
He grunted. “What happened to don’t touch me?”
“Who said anything about you touching me?”
“You’re a cruel, wicked little bird.”
“Maybe so.” I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, but I whispered, “Please, Kane.”
“Damn,” he groaned, finally releasing my fist to run his hands up my sides—those hands, as if they were designed for my body—and pulled me into a fierce kiss.
All I could register was our tongues, our mingled breaths, and my hair tangled in his large hands as he cradled my head, drawing out rushed breaths and whimpers from me—
I knew I had missed the feel of his lips on mine, knew I had been craving him like an addiction, but I had never expected it to be like this. Like breathing again after suffocating for weeks.
Kane pressed me against a sandstone wall beneath a covered balcony—my long dress getting tangled underfoot as he maneuvered me by the waist to the exact position he wanted. He palmed my hips and backside, lifting me against him, kissing roughly, as if fearing I might change my mind at any moment. The shameful truth was that I was already damp for him between my legs, each groan that rumbled from his broad chest making me wetter, that pulse in my core growing more insistent.
He deepened our kiss—a raw, searching, messy thing—taking his time, slowing down to be more thorough. When his thumb circled my sensitive nipple through the thin fabric, I groaned into his mouth.
He hissed in pleasure, aligning our bodies so his arousal pressed harder against me.
I writhed against him, clawing at him, my nails digging into his neck, almost drawing blood. The thought only ignited me further. Under the vines, cloaked in night, I swirled my tongue along his, swallowing his grunts and sighs, feeling his hands travel lower, lower, lower—
“Can I?” he murmured against my lips, as his thumb grazed between my thighs.
Yes, yes, yes.
Sparks and flames were igniting within me, lighting me from the inside out.
Wild, reckless, foolish, but alive—
I nodded vigorously, my lips brushing his. He breathed my name, sounding tortured.
I fumbled with his leather laces. I felt no shame—he desired me. And that single truth coursed through my body like liquid fire.
His lips found my throat—licking, lapping, biting and breathing—as he touched me, making me moan. I whimpered again as he sucked on my collarbone, cupping my breast, holding me like I was something precious—
Delicate—
Worth cherishing.
The kiss shifted. It became more emotional. Intimate. He was cradling my face tenderly, merging our bodies with care and precision. Allowing me such freedom, such trust in his embrace . . . It was poignant, personal, to the point where I could almost hear his heartbeat—
“Stop,” I whispered. “Let me go.”
He shuddered, but lowered me to the ground immediately, his pants still half-unlaced. His breathing matched mine in intensity.
I looked at him, speechless with the ache in my chest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he managed. “I can’t breathe when you look at me like that.”
All the confidence in his eyes—all that desire—was gone. The moonlight bathed his dark hair, his furrowed brow, his heaving chest.
“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.
Angry tears stung my eyes. I swallowed them down. My lips tingled.
I felt like screaming.
He turned his gaze toward the harbor, where the moonlight was giving way to dawn.
“I don’t know . . .” I breathed out a shaky sigh. “You broke—you broke my heart.”
He flinched at my words. The shock on his face would have been satisfying earlier. I would have relished surprising him, making him react.
But not now.
“You once asked if I thought love was a weakness,” he said softly. “You, Arwen. You are my weakness.”
“Then I’m doing you a favor.” My voice was icy, even to my own ears.
My whole life, I had been easily moved to tears, both in joy and sorrow.
Now, I couldn’t summon a single tear.
I took a steady breath, the confusion fading.
Cowardly retreating beneath that familiar numbness.
Kane’s eyes were hard and sharp as granite. “You’re afraid. Afraid to be with me, to feel something, now that you have to face all that I tried to shield you from.” He inhaled deeply, running a trembling hand through his hair in frustration. “I get it, I do. Just don’t claim you’re doing this to spare me the pain. It’s too late for that.”
I wanted to tell him it was too late for me, too. That I was ruined. That I didn’t have enough time left in this world to heal from his lies, his betrayal, the trauma of the past weeks, and then, after piecing myself back together, to see if there was anything left in me capable of giving him another chance.
Giving us another chance.
Under the last flickers of moonlight, all I could say was “I’m sorry.”
