A corner of Fin’s mouth tipped into a frown, and he pushed his face into hers, their noses almost touching. A ragged exhalation sent his minty breath flowing across her face.
“Do you think”—his voice was gruff and husky—“I give one damn about revenge now? Are you that blind?”
“I think you’re so scared of living with your scars thatyou’rethe one who’s blind.” She jutted her chin to meet his angry gaze. “You’re a coward who couldn’t function in the real world if you tried.”
He closed his eyelids for a moment, as if trying to hide terrible pain. His lips pressed together, and a tendon stood out on his neck.
“I didn’t mean . . .” She wanted to take the words back.
Shame burned inside. He had let her see him at his most vulnerable, yet she now threw it in his face.
He moved his nose to the side of her head.
“You’re nothing but a coddled little girl”—his lips touched her ear—“who has noideawhat’s out in the real world.”
His hips ground against hers, and his breath lingered on her neck.
She fought against an urge to reciprocate against his body. Instead, she took a deep breath.
“You’re a pig.”
“And you’re a rat,” he growled. “I don’t know what came over me, thinking you were different somehow. Get out of here,Princess.I don’t want you, and I certainly don’tneedyou.”
Something in her heart tore, and she swallowed a spinning ball of pain.
The white skin of his throat almost touched her lips, and the soft, gray robe rubbed against a shoulder.
He jerked back. His lips thinned into an even line, pulling the scar tighter.
“Fin, I—”
Twirling, he ignored her words and stalked the long aisle between the pews. When he reached the front doors, still open from his forced entry, he stopped for a moment but didn’t turn around.
“If I were you, I’d get out of here before they wake. I won’t save you from Daddy or your fiancé again.” With that, he lifted his arms, blew the doors off their hinges and strode out.
The sound of broken, splintered wood falling to the ground crashed and echoed through the chapel.
Cyan remained near Sacha for a few moments, his wings causing an updraft of air to blow a few of Sacha’s curls against her cheek.
“What have I done?” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
A high-pitched shriek sounded near her ear. The creature’s forked tongue—its velvety texture hot and wet—swiped her cheek. Fluttering in place near her head, wings flapping lazily, Cyan’s knobby brow pulled inward. He offered another lick, as if trying to console her.
“You’d better fly home, little guy. Fin needs you.” She stretched an index finger toward the baby dragon and scratched his outstretched neck. “He and I were never meant to be. Our worlds are too far apart, too different, too intertwined with pain and loss.”
With a short screech, the red-orange dragon pivoted mid-air and streaked through the empty aisle toward outside.
Sacha leaned her head against the cool wood of a wall, then closed her eyes. How had things gotten so complicated?
A low moan sounded from the floor and broke her daze.
Fin was right about one thing—she had to leave if she wanted to stay free.
Scrubbing her face with the back of a hand, she twisted the handle at her back and slipped away.
Chapter 28
Fin
