Kacey’s cheeks redden immediately. She tucks imaginary loose strands behind her ears while he tracks every movement like he’ll never get enough, like he can’t bear to miss a second.
My goddesses. This is it. This is really it.
He’s her bond.
“Well, I—I… I…” She’s speechless.
Amon has made Kacey speechless.
That only confirms it.
I can’t help the smug smile spreading across my face. But then she turns to me, her eyes wide as they dart down quickly to her side.
I spot it straight away—the pinky. Sticking out and shaking from the effort like she’s trying to scream it through her finger.
Softly shaking my head, still chuckling, I say, “So, I’m gonna head back over there.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder, pointing to the entry room where the main planters are. “And I think you two should stay here and talk, maybe feed the animals?”
Kacey looks horrified. Appalled. I know exactly what she’s thinking:That was the signal, I gave the signal!
But I’m already walking backwards, away from them. “I’ll be right hereifyou need me.”
I settle at the nearest planter a few feet away, grabbing a sapling and begin to re-pot it. But my eyes don’t leave them, watching the awkwardness slowly eat away at Kacey.
But Amon doesn’t feel awkward. No. Not at all.
Shifters always feel so fiercely, their emotions arepotent, and it’s clear he’s content to stand there in silence, just watching her. He could stand there for hours, days, weeks, standing right there—even if she never spoke again.
But of course, she does, because Kacey can’t help herself.
I hear her muttering about the phoenixes before she rushes off. And Amon, devotedly, follows.
I watch until they vanish from view, ensuring I stay locked into Amon’s emotions for everyone’s safety. Just in case.
But now, without them, I have no distraction.
I’m no longer able to avoid the cool caress seeping from the corner of the room. I know, sooner or later—if not today, tomorrow—I’ll have to facehim.
I sigh, letting my eyes close, just for a second. Just to let myself enjoy the icy chill without pretending to hate it.
Then I glance at the shadows. “Are you coming out?”
I’m fiddling with the compost bag when he emerges.
There.
The same word, the same voice, just like the first time, at The Inferno.But now thatdark voice echoes through me, pleads with me.
But I refuse.
He’s there. There.
I know he is. But I won’t look at him. I can’t.
His presence instantly strips any remaining heat from the air, bringing the temperature back to a comfortable coolness, sending a soft chill skittering across my skin.
But I don’t look at him. I won’t.
I shake out the soil as a way to hide the shiver he’s created, gently pressing my fingertips into the fresh earth, methodically moving onto the next pot. All the while, my gaze stays down.
