For a heartbeat, he still felt the Grove Core’s hunger thrumming through his veins—a raw ache that left him trembling. Beneath it, steadier and more insistent, came the living heat of Goldie in his arms: the subtle rise and fall of her chest, her soft exhalations, the way her copper curls brushed his jaw.
He pressed her closer, one hand sliding up her back to cradle her head. His fingers threaded through her hair and he inhaled the faint scent of cinnamon and bergamot lingering on her skin. Each breath she took was a promise, a tether that grounded him more firmly than any rhizome could.
“We’ll find another way,” he whispered, words meant as much for himself as for her.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Goldie’s eyelids fluttered open. The world smelled of rich earth and something sweeter. Her body was heavy, yet wrapped in warmth so complete it felt dangerously close to home.
She stirred and coughed softly. Instantly, Splice’s arms tightened. He rocked her gently, his fingers moving through her hair in slow, deliberate caresses. The motion sent a shiver through her core.
Her gaze drifted upward and found his. In the pale moonlight, his eyes were molten with something that flickered between hunger and tenderness. He leaned closer, lips brushing her temple with a whisper of warmth.
“Goldie,” he murmured, voice husky.
She tried to lift a hand to his face but found it pinned beneath his arm. Slowly, awareness rippled through her. She was naked. Her body was pressed against the rough weave of his coat, the cool night air brushing exposed skin.
“Why am I…”
Her voice cracked, and the words tangled in her throat. Splice’s gaze flickered away, as if scorched by what he might seeif he looked too long. He shifted, carefully pulling back, and in one swift movement stripped off his coat to drape it over her shoulders.
“Here.” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it.
She tugged the fabric close, heart hammering at the ghost of his heat still clinging to it.
“What happened?”
His hand lifted and his fingertips brushed her cheek. TThe touch jolted through her, sparking a flush that raced beneath her bare skin. His eyes darkened, then shuttered.
“Let’s get you dressed.”
He turned to gather her clothes, leaving her swaddled in his coat. She hugged it tighter against herself. Everything felt amplified—the earth under her skin, the charged whisper of air through the branches, the strange aftertaste of power in her veins.
Goldie cleared her throat, forcing lightness. “Well, that went well. Sleepwalking, and all that. Gold star for me. Thanks for following.”
Splice didn’t meet her eyes. He quickly dropped her clothes into her hands, and then turned away, staring at the ground.
“Okay, then,” Goldie muttered. She dressed quickly, tugging her clothes on with brisk fingers. When she straightened, she caught him fidgeting, thumb rubbing the seam of his palm like he was working through a knot.
A soft sigh rippled through the foliage. She shivered, and Splice’s head snapped up. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at one another.
Goldie held out his coat. He accepted it.
She wrapped her arms around herself, then cleared her throat. “Mycor?” she asked, tentative. “Did… did anything happen?”
Splice closed his eyes and shook his head. He seemed poised to speak, then stopped, swallowed, and said nothing.
Goldie studied him for a beat, the silence stretching. Whatever he wasn’t saying pressed heavier than words.
She forced a wry smile. “Right. Well. Maybe we should head back. No point waiting here for the police to show up.”
They walked back in silence. The space between them crackled, sharp as static before a storm. Goldie tried to think, to claw back some memory of sleepwalking. She remembered slipping into bed… and then waking up naked, cradled in Splice’s arms in the Grove Core.
Her brow furrowed as she stared down at her running shoes, step after step tapping against the Bellwether sidewalks. Something clung to her ribs like a half-remembered melody. A hum, low and resonant, coiling in her sternum the way a struck bell vibrates long after the sound fades.
And layered on top of that… Splice. His scent, clinging sharp and green in her nostrils. The ghost of his fingers against her skin when they weren’t there at all. Her pulse jumped, hard and inconvenient, heat pooling low in her body until she had to bite back a sound.
