My hand froze mid-air, caught by someone. Warm, firm fingers around my wrist. “Wake up, Daphne. You’re having a nightmare.”
“I’m not a monster,” I repeated, unsure whether I was trying to convince myself or the world. Tears wetted my face.
“Of course you’re not.”
I blinked, struggling to catch my breath. A heartbeat of confusion. The world gained shape again. That cursed lake was gone.
Gray eyes, shimmering like sunlight over the morning frost, dark brows drawn together. Emrys’s face hovered just inches above mine, his fingers still locked around my wrist. “It’s over,” he said, his thumb wiping a tear off my cheek. A shadow passed over his features. He hesitated for a heartbeat. “You’re safe with me,” he said.
These words broke something in me. Safe was nothing but an empty word to me. I’d forgotten what safety was long ago—when the monsters under my nursery bed became real.
“You’re not a monster, Miss Daphne.”
Slight disappointment stung my heart when the formality in his voice crept in again, though his fingers remained around my wrist, warm and searching, as if he was taking my pulse. “Trust me, I’m an expert on the topic.” He laughed softly, his mask up immediately.
However deadly Emrys Ravenborn was, he was afraid of something—of caring. All the scars left behind by his centuries-long life had left him cold and guarded.
Silence settled between us, deep and full of unspoken things.
“We are bound now. I sense your pain, Miss Daphne. It’s so sharp and overwhelming that I cannot sleep,” he whispered so close to my cheek that his hot breath brushed my face. “How can I soothe it so we can go back to sleep?”
Heat rippled down to my core. What was he even suggesting?
Too late. The memory of his body against mine on the forest floor flooded me. Chaotic, like a monsoon.
Would kissing him help? Damned it all. It was so tempting to try. I had only to bring my lips an inch higher. His gaze flicked down. Stopped. Lingered on my mouth. I could hear his heartbeat in the silence echoing mine. Desperate, wild. About to do something reckless.
Madness.
And a terrible idea.
I quickly pulled my hand and looked away to hide my struggle. “You sense my pain?” I asked, my throat tight.
He froze for a moment, then flinched back as if he had touched an open flame. The chilly air settled between us. “Through that unfortunate bond you created between us, Miss Daphne. The one we’re going to disband in Paris.” His eyes scanned my face, glowing like snow in the moonlight. Cold and otherworldly beautiful. “I have a very… heightened sensibility of your presence.” His voice trembled, and he slipped off the bed. Shadows rippled behind him, like the train of some magical cloak, while he paced the room, dragging fingers through his inky hair. Had I made him nervous?
“It’s causing me great discomfort,” he said and walked to the window. He opened it in one brisk move and let the salty night breeze in, along with the sound of the waves. For a moment, he stood there, panting.
My thoughts were racing. Could he also feel the heat in my chest, the sweet ache between my thighs?
“Try to get some rest, Miss Daphne,” he rasped, his back still turned. Emrys murmured some strange words, and his magic washed over me, gentle as dusk. Sleep claimed me, velvety and dreamless.
Daphne
Bound to Calais
Atap at the window jolted me awake. Gray light filtered through the stained glass. Emrys was still asleep, his dark curls fanned across the pillow like spilled ink.
Another tap—quick, playful. Not Hollowborn. Too light. Too familiar.
I crept to the window and cracked it open. A gust of salty air rushed in, along with the sharp cry of gulls.
“So,” a smug voice echoed from the sill, “how’s the honeymoon suite?”
“Nibble? How did you—?”
“Travel’s easy when you know the back doors. There are other ways to cross this world, Daphne. And the shadows following him are deep.” He peered past me at Emrys. “Tell your brooding friend the skies are clear—except for these awful seagulls. The port’s clean, too. No Eclipse nasties in sight. I’ll meet you in Calais. I hear the cheese there is divine.”
Before I could ask anything else, Nibble launched into the air with a wink. Fog swallowed him, along with the screeching of a very distressed seagull.
