I leaned one hand against the stone beside her head, blocking her escape without completely trapping her. Her breath quickened.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” I murmured.
Her throat worked to swallow. “I don’t think you should be here either.”
“I know.”
But I don’t leave. I can’t.
She doesn’t retreat. The small gap between us gets hotter, sharper, and electric.
“You don’t look okay,” she whispered.
“No.” My voice broke in a way I can’t hide. “No, I’m not.”
Her fingers trembled at her sides. I can see the moment her resolve snaps—the moment she stops thinking about danger and prophecy and Factions and everything she should fear about me.
“Torren…”
I don’t let her finish.
I kiss her.
It’s wrong.
It’s reckless.
It’s the single most catastrophic thing I could do.
And I do it anyway.
Because the second her mouth meets mine, the noise in my head—the screaming, the curse, the fractured magic—all goes silent.
Completely silent.
Her hands clutched my shirt. My palm cupped her jaw. I kissed her as if I’d been drowning for years, and she’s the first breath I’d taken since our last kiss—since a fucked-up childhood I had no control over.
And then?—
I feel power detonate beneath her skin.
A pulse.
White-hot.
Ancient.
Her power slammed into me like a brand, searing through my shoulder, my ribs, my throat. I choked on the shock of it, stumbling into her with a gasp I couldn’t control.
A mark flares across my skin in blazing gold.
Hermark.
HerFaction.
The bond snapped into place so violently that my vision fractured.
I see her.
