“What room?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I found a secret room connected to the Waterrunner’s storeroom. It was Adela’s.”
“Really?”
Rather than answering, Eira took the top journal off the stack and flipped open to one of the less disturbing pages of Adela’s magical experimentations. Cullen took it from her, skimming the tight, swirling script that danced across the page.
“So this was part of the edge you had in the trials.” He smiled softly.
“Who knows?” Eira shrugged. “I’ve only been able to master a few of them recently. There’re years of work here. I’ve been reading everything she wrote on sorcerer channels.” She stared at the journal, willing them to impart deeper secrets than they already had. “She really was—isincredible. In a terrifying sort of way.”
“As are you.” Cullen ran a finger down her spine. Eira shivered, reminded of just how thin her sleeping shirt was. “Though less terrifying.”
“I think there’s quite a few people who would disagree with you on that.” She gave him a tired grin.
“I think I don’t care what others think,” he responded, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. The way he looked at her then, with such sorrow and longing… He looked as if he was the one who was going to try to separate them now.
“What’s wrong?” Eira whispered.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
He chuckled softly. “Perhaps I am.” His hand slid around the back of her neck as he met her eyes. “I love you, Eira.”
“I love you too,” she breathed. The words were still hard to say. She still felt as though every time they passed her lips she was doing nothing more than digging an even deeper hole for them to have to escape from.
“I want to be with you, and only you. Nothing will change that.” He leaned forward. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “And itterrifiesme.”
“Good, we’ll be terrified together.” He pressed his mouth against hers, gentle but firm. The way he kissed her, unhurried, but filled with such a deep and utter longing, had Eira’s own yearning responding in kind.
Cullen continued pushing forward, causing Eira to lean back. His hand was still behind her head, now wedged between her and the pillow. Cullen shifted. The journals fell to the floor with heavy thuds that they both ignored.
“Let me stay with you tonight?” he breathed across her lips.
“I should tell you no.”
“I shouldn’t ask.” He grinned slightly, outlined by candlelight.
“Stay with me.” Eira didn’t care how bad of an idea it was. There was something heady and desperate in the night air. She needed him to be here. For all Eira knew, tomorrow would be their last day alive.
With a flick of Cullen’s hand, an unseen gust guttered the candle and plunged them into darkness. Moonlight streamed through her window, turning his golden outline silvery. Eira traced every edge of him with her fingers between kisses. She would learn him, commit him to memory, steal a knowledge of him that would be only hers.
His hands roved as well, leisurely exploring her sides, the plane of her stomach, her hips. Eira exhaled pent-up delight.
“I want you,” she breathed into the darkness.
“And I want you.”
Her hands slipped underneath his shirt, feeling the muscle she knew was there without any barriers. The sound of the clothes sliding off of him—off of her—was as sweet as a song. He was warm, almost fever-hot on her cool skin. It was as though he was the embodiment of life, and goodness, and she was a wraith in the night, thieving from him something she should never even touch, let alone take.
But Eira would pillage and steal whatever he laid bare to her. She twisted and his back pressed into the bed. Her turn to be on top and in control. Her fingers grazed over his chest, drawing goosebumps with their chill and a sharp inhale. She liked him shivering under her, yearning, gasping. Eira leaned forward, inhaling slowly, savoring every sound and scent with every part of her. Fingers splayed across his chest, she kissed down his neck, nibbling lightly on his collarbone.
Cullen groaned and the sound drove her wild. “I want your lips.”
“Where?”
