“What if I don’t want to go?” I heard myself say.
His marks flared, black veins pulsing against his skin. “Elle.”
“We’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Since the monastery. Since that kiss that bent reality.” I turned to face him fully. “I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of being careful. I’m tired of wanting you and not having you.”
“The plants—”
“Aren’t making me lie.” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “They’re just making me brave enough to tell the truth.”
His control was cracking; I could see it in the way his hands clenched, in how his breathing had gone shallow. “If we do this—”
“Then we do this.” Another step. “Don’t you remember what you said to me?”
“I think about it constantly.” The admission was rough, dragged from somewhere deep. “Every moment. Every breath. You’re in my head, in my blood, in every thought since I saw you laid bare before me behind the waterfall.”
“Then stop thinking,” I said, reaching up to trace the marks along his jaw, “and just feel.”
He caught my wrist, but not to push me away. His thumb pressed against my pulse, feeling it race. “Elle. Are you certain? Is this what you want, or is it the garden…”
“It’s me.” I met his eyes, let him see the truth there. “It’s been me since the first moment you saw me.”
Something in him shattered. I felt it through the bond—the last wall of his restraint crumbling like crystal under pressure.
His mouth found mine with bruising intensity, one hand tangling in my hair while the other pulled me against him. This wasn’t like any kiss previously. This was need made physical, weeks of tension released all at once.
I gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound, walking me backward until my back hit one of the massive bloom-houses that dotted the garden. The petals were soft against my shoulders, glowing faintly at the contact.
“Weeks,” he growled against my throat, his lips tracing the marks at my collarbones. “Weeks of watching you, wanting you, trying to maintain some semblance of control.”
“I don’t want your control.” My hands found the laces of his tunic, fumbling with them. “I want you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the raw want in his expression made my knees weak. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. You understand that?”
“Good,” I breathed. “I don’t want to go back.”
The kiss this time was different—slower, deeper, a claiming. His hands mapped my body through my clothes like he was memorizing topography, and everywhere he touched left trails of heat.
“Wait,” I said against his mouth, and he froze instantly.
“Too much?”
“Not enough.” I pulled back with a grin, reaching for one of the vines nearby. Its leaves were glistening with morning dew, sparkling in the light. I plucked one, brought it to my nose. The scent was pure peppermint, sweet and sharp. “These are flavored.”
His eyebrows rose. “Flavored.”
“Peppermint. There are others—look.” I pointed to different vines. “Chocolate. Bubblegum. Some kind of berry.” I traced the peppermint leaf over his lips, watched his pupils blow wide at the cooling sensation it left. “Guess I found my own personal candy cane.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, but his voice was rough with want.
“Hopefully not before we get to the good part.” I kissed him again, tasting peppermint on his lips, and felt his control slip another notch.
His hands found the hem of my tunic, hesitated. “May I?”
The formality of it, in this moment, undid something in my chest. “Yes. Please, yes.”
He pulled the fabric over my head in one smooth motion, and for a moment just looked at me. The marks at my collarbones had spread again, golden lines tracing patterns down my chest.
“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he said, reverent. His fingers traced the marks, making me shiver.
