“Daciana,” he finally whispers, and I don’t know why I feel so relieved at hearing my name from his lips. He knows it’s me. He knows I’m the one under him, not the woman he was shedding tears over.
“Faster,” I whisper. “I don’t care if it hurts. Give me everything.”
His voice is hoarse. “You already have everything, my heart.”
My heart.
He moves with a desperation that mirrors mine, a sound ripping from his chest every time I meet him, every time I say his name without speaking it.
His cock is stretching me beyond what I thought possible, but under the delicious burn is a heady pleasure. I can’t think. My nails score his back as he fucks me against the bed, his hips snapping against mine. I can feel every inch of him filling me.
I was wrong, I realize hazily as I shatter. He does fit. He fits like a fucking glove. His release follows mine; he tries to pull out, but my legs are locked at the ankle around his waist. I see the panic in his gaze, and I try not to overthink it, to let it hurt me.
Shaking, breathless, undone, he collapses on top of me, his face buried in my neck, his entire body wrapped around mine like he’s anchoring us to this moment.
I can feel him about to say something, but I whisper, my voice weak, “No. Don’t say anything. Just stay here.”
I don’t know what I’ve done, but I don’t want this to be ruined. He can end it in the morning. Tonight, he’s mine, and I’m not alone.
Chapter Eight
Kieran
I wake to warmth and softness, and for one perfect moment, I don’t think. I just feel. Satiated, comfortable, whole in a way I haven’t been in so long.
Then, I look down.
Daciana is asleep in my arms, her dark hair spilled across my chest, one hand curled against my heart. The moonlight barely touches the room, but it’s enough. Enough to see the curve of her bare shoulder. The marks I left on her throat.
What have I done?
The memory crashes over me. Her cry in the night was faint, but I heard it through the stone walls separating our chambers. I’m always listening for her, tuned to every breath, every whisper. Before conscious thought could form, I was already moving into the hallway, where I found her door unlocked.
She was thrashing in the sheets, caught in a nightmare. But underneath it, threading through her distress like poison in wine, I felt something else: magic. Gypsy witch magic, with its particular, bitter honey taste that clings to the back of my throat.
I sit up slowly, carefully, but Daciana clings to me even in sleep. Her arm tightens around my waist, and a part of me deep inside splinters at the trust in that gesture. I shouldn’t feel this way.
I run my hand through my hair, fingers catching in the tangles. My oath. I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this again. Wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t claim her, wouldn’t risk…
But when she looked at me, I didn’t see Daciana. I saw Elara.
The memory split me open. Elara, crying, her voice breaking: “Why didn’t you come? Please, please, why didn’t you come?”
That’s what shattered my resolve. That’s what made me forget every vow, every promise I’d made to myself. For one terrible, beautiful moment, I saw my first love looking at me with desperate need, and I was powerless against it.
But it was Daciana who kissed me. Daciana’s lips on mine, Daciana’s hands pulling me closer, Daciana’s body I claimed throughout the night. Not a substitute. Not a ghost. The woman in my arms, real and solid and here. She was the one who reached for me.
Grief lodges in my throat like a stone. Always too late. I find her body cooling, the light already gone from her eyes. In every lifetime, I arrive after the end.
I swore I wouldn’t let it happen this time.
But here I am. Here we are.
I look down at her sleeping face, peaceful now, and gently brush a strand of hair from her cheek. My fingers linger despite myself. She has never remembered before. Not once in any of her lifetimes has she recalled who she was, who we were to each other.
So, why now? Why this dream of Elara dying?
The gypsy witch’s words echo in my mind: “The curse is weakening.”
