The wind blew sugary puffs of snow against the night-dark windowpanes. The noise in the halls had stuttered off into silence, and tomorrow seemed as far away as a new century. And yet she knew that wasn’t true. Tomorrow, the witch would come and hand them the very thing they wished for, and all of this would soon become a distant dream.
Ambrose looked at her, the full force of those gray eyes practically pinning her into place. His hair was still damp and slightly curled about his ears. The undershirt he’d worn had been reduced to tatters, so he’d purchased a new one that made no effort to conceal the broadness of his shoulders or the lean muscles roping his arms.
“What are you thinking about?”
Ambrose did not hesitate. “You.”
He stood a good five feet away from her. But the moment he said that, she imagined she could hear that word pressed to her mouth. Her neck. Everywhere.
“What about me?”
“The things I’ve learned about you,” he said quietly.
“Such as?”
“For one, you make a terrible statue—”
“I shall mourn that till the end of my days.”
“You detest shoes because they anchor you to one place. I’ve never seen you wield a hairbrush, but I imagine that would be a fearsome sight to behold. You could find a reason to laugh at practically anything in the world. And you’re brave to the point where I worry about your sense of self-preservation.”
It wasn’t enough for her to smile at that. Her whole body seemed to join in the effort, a warm glow spreading up from her toes. With every unfurling of warmth, Imelda felt an answer loosening. Since her encounter with the witch queen, she hadn’t been able to shake off her aunt’s warning:“Trust me, child, he will try to control you, in the end.”
She couldn’t tell what was the brave thing to do with that warning. Her aunt said that power came only from control. But Imelda didn’t want her aunt’s bloodless, glassy power. She wanted the power that came fromliving, breathing things, not a life lived as a cold, unyielding statue. She might get hurt. She might get rejected outright. But at least she tried…and wasn’t that the truest sense of bravery? To open one’s eyes in the dark and step forward anyway?
Imelda found her voice. “Is that all?”
Perhaps there was something in the way she said it because Ambrose’s head jerked up sharply. He gave her an assessing look, his dark brows knitted close, cruel mouth shaped in an uncertain smile.
“And you hate being commanded.”
Imelda’s smile turned coy.
“True. I always find myself compelled to do the exact opposite of a thing.”
Ambrose looked down at the ground, holding himself stiffly. The room shifted around them. If it was possible, the night seemed to have gotten darker and more distant, the hall more silent, the space between them burning with invisible flames. Imelda held her breath until Ambrose looked up and finally said:
“Then don’t come near me.”
She took a step. Then two. Hardly believing herself. They were a handspan distance from each other.
“Don’t…” His eyes found hers. “Don’t touch me.”
Imelda laid her palms to his chest, feeling the wild beating of his heart. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that this wasn’t their last day but their first, and how different things might have been. She slid her palms up, lacing them around his neck, savoring the sharp intake of his breath. His hands went around her waist, firm and hot against her skin. He lowered his head, his lips grazing the slope of her neck.
“Imelda, I beg you…don’t kiss me.”
Imelda turned her face toward his and did the exact opposite of what he’d commanded. She kissed him deeply, heat searing through her body at the low growl in his chest when her mouth moved from his lips to the base of his throat. His hands skimmed up her body, trailing heat in their wake until his fingers paused at the stays of her bodice. Imelda undid them slowly, watching as his eyes darkened and his breaths turned shallow. The dress slid from her shoulders, pooling around her ankles. The moment she reached for Ambrose, he grabbed her to him, and they fell onto the bed.
***
Well, what doyouthink happened?
Don’t look!
Bah!
So rude.
