“We still have to go through The Ceremony. It might not even be us,” he assures me, though I catch the hope in his tone.
I nod slowly, understanding that he’s trying to soothe the tension between us; still, I can’t help but feel the gravity of it. In all my studies and research, I have yet to find anything that captures the unusual intensity of what I share with him. I think I’ve known from the beginning, deep down, that it was more than just a regular Bond, even on the first day of school, though I’ve done a lousy job accepting it.
He finishes recounting the events that unfolded in the clearing, the impenetrable wall of shadows that kept my lower half shielded from sight, and the way the mist had completely enveloped me. He shares, with a bit of guilt, that Trysten had remained unconscious across the field, but he had chosen me.
Anders didn’t hesitate to reach for me, feeling the power burning within me, and instinctively, like his body knew what to do, he began channeling it out. As he did, he watched as the shadows and mist retreated. He finishes off by retelling those short minutes before we had to get back to the transport.
I can’t bear to meet his gaze, the weight of my actions crashing down on me. I not only struck Trysten for yanking me out of Anders’ arms, but also allowed myself to curl up against him for comfort and sleep beside him on the bunk. Though I wonder if there’s more to it as I watch some memory cross his eyes.
When he’s finished, he gently brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear in the same way he’s done countless times before. “What did you tell them? They want to question me.” I attempt to divert the conversation. Avoidance feels like the safest path for now, but I’m not ready to let go of him just yet.
Whatever he sees in my eyes has him leaning down, wrapping his palms around my thighs, lifting and spinning me to the table, and stepping between my thighs before pulling me firmly against his chest. My breath catches in my throat, and my toes curl at the heat I find in his gaze.
I lean back on my palms, attempting to put some distance between us despite my body coming alive. I’m still dressed in nothing but a modest nightgown. Still, it’s just soft fabric with no underthings.
“We all agreed to keep it simple for now.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Your transport was in hyperjump when it got trapped by Sgya’s gravitational pull, and you crashed. You saved Trysten. We only found you by sheer luck, picking up your heat signatures. We managed to escape before anyone realized we were ever there.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as though what transpired was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I have no doubt that every kingdom will know about this by tomorrow.
His hands wrap around me, lifting me back to him, my breasts nearly brushing him. I gulp down the simmering desire building in my core. “So, no mention of your father’s notes? Or the nightmarish shadows that sought to pull me into that glowing tree?”
A disbelieving chuckle escapes my lips as I run a palm down his chest, feeling every toned muscle beneath. Our chests brush together as I lean in, looking up to fully face him, and I wish I could crawl back into bed with him at my side.
The desire to be near him is a consuming force of its own. It’s unlike any emotion I’ve ever experienced. It almost feels like an essential urge woven into the very fabric of my being, as necessary as breath itself. He lets out a soft hum, his gaze shifting toward the door momentarily before returning to me, filled with a restlessness of unspoken thoughts.
I’m not sure if he’s aware of his hands, but they move to my hips, his thumbs making idle circles on the lower section of my abdomen. “There’s also notes about your magic, or at least I think it’s your magic.” A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face as I tug him closer, wrapping my legs around his. His eyes drift down to where our bodies are joined.
My palm brushes against the scratchy shadow of his beard. The sensation ignites an awareness within me. As I run my thumb along the pronounced contours of his high cheekbones, he leans into my touch, his sapphire eyes devouring me. They glimmer like deep pools, and I find myself lost in them, captivated by how they shimmer with unspoken want.
“It’s real,” I mutter, not as a question, but as an understanding, an acknowledgment.
This magnetic pull between us transcends the Lumos Bond. It’s a fulfillment of an ancient prophecy ordained by the gods themselves. Usually, I would be terrified, instinctively wanting to run in the opposite direction, hating that once again my life is dictated by the gods’ plans, but right now, I simply can’t resist, and I don’t want to. Acceptance floods my mind as an unexpected calm washes over me.
It’s real.
I’m unsure who moves first—maybe it’s me, perhaps him—but suddenly our noses are brushing, the whisper of shared breath hanging between us as if time has slowed. Our lips are so tantalizingly close that it would only take a minuscule shift to close this insufferable distance. His breath grazes my lips as he whispers my name.
“Soraea,” the sound so much like a prayer or maybe a desperate plea, as his hand moves to cup my neck, his fingers weaving through my hair, as his thumb brushes over a very sensitive spot on my neck. The intimacy of his touch tugs at something deep within me.
In that same heartbeat, I lean forward, letting our lips graze like they did at the resort. I crave this connection, and as my eyes flutter closed, I feel a euphoric haze settle around me, my body coming alive with anticipation. His lips brush against mine again, soft yet fervent, and I am swept away by the sweetness of it.
But just as I feel ready to surrender, he pulls away, a pained expression crossing his features. “I really want to kiss you.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Gods, I want to kiss you…” I see the longing and truth of that statement in his eyes, but he continues, brushing a hand down my shoulder, “but not like this.” The weight of his frustrating words hangs in the air. “I don’t want our first real kiss to be tainted by this trauma.”
The tension in his jaw reveals the restraint he’s forcing upon himself, as if he can’t believe his own words. I can’t argue with him. I want to kiss him desperately, yet I understand.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he chuckles softly. His gaze is full of mischief and a searing heat as he leans in, his mouth brushing against my cheek. “I plan on kissing you the moment you’re ready, but when I do,” my whole body erupts in goosebumps as his breath and lips brush over my cheek, “it won’t be soft or sweet, Princess.”
A gasp, or maybe a moan, escapes my lips as he pulls away. A darker glimmer flickers in his gaze this time, and a seductive grin spreads across his lips.
“When I finally kiss you, Soraea, it will be a claiming. There won’t even be a hint of doubt about my intentions or feelings.” His promise sends a thrill coursing down my spine, setting my already heated core ablaze.
I shift slightly in his arms, my core brushing against his hips, and a knowing smirk curls at the corners of his mouth. Just as I’m about to demand that kiss, my body betrays me as a pain I hadn’t noticed before, which feels like a stab wound at my hips, causing me to clutch his shirt in pain. He swears under his breath, drawing me against him as he runs a soothing hand down my spine. I can feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against my belly, but he’s right, I’m not ready.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Anders teases. “That’s enough excitement for today.”
I mock gasp, half-heartedly slapping his chest, the pure strength of him beneath my palm igniting a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Just as I lean back on my hands again to catch my breath, the doorswings open with a creak, and my father steps inside, his presence instantly commanding the room.
I immediately shoot up, sitting straight and attempting to wiggle free since Anders is still between my bare legs. His annoyingly sturdy, impressive body doesn’t budge an inch. Something like amusement flickers in my father’s gaze as I squirm, pushing at Anders; it almost makes me turn my stubborn glare on him.
He clears his throat, and Anders finally turns, keeping a possessive palm on my thigh as he stands beside where I’m still seated, shifting my thighs closed and crossing my ankles. Embarrassment floods my cheeks.
