“Cass?” I ask from the bottom step. “Are you okay?”
Another wave of terror ripples through me—through both of us—and when I meet his dark eyes, they’re stricken and tight with fear.
He clutches at his bare shoulder where the ember of dark magic is buried, where he took a hex forme. The moment he fell comes back to me with startling clarity, and like the fear between us, our memories are shared. The agony of the hex, the smell of burning flesh, his name on my lips as the thorns of the omega trap twined around me, soaking my clothes with my blood. A low whine escapes me, and I shake my head, trying to banish the memories.
“I dreamt of you,” he rasps out. “It’s always you or Simon, and I can never, ever save you.”
I whimper his name and cross over to him, slipping into his arms. “It was just a dream.”
He pulls me as close as he can, breathing in my scent, just as I drag greedy lungfuls of his scent into my chest. Saints, even when I despised him, his scent brought me joy, brought me back to simpler summer days.
He nuzzles against my neck, and it’s only then that I notice he’s shaking. Tremors rip through him as his grasp around me tightens, as he buries his nose in the crook between my neck and shoulder and nips. It’s so light I barely feel it, but he steps away from me quickly, his smoke-and-whiskey eyes wide.
“You’re not safe with me right now,” he utters. “My instincts…”
“Shh,” I murmur, reaching for his hand. I draw him over to the couch, sit him down and then take a seat at his side. It’s only seconds before he pulls me into his lap, and I’m straddling his strong thighs.
We both tremble.
“You should go back to bed,” he grits out, turning away from me. “Back to your nest. I don’t… I don’t trust myself with you right now.”
I stroke his hair, all of my instincts screaming at me to soothe the tortured alpha beneath me, to be gentle while his own instincts rage. Leaning forward, I nuzzle his neck, marking him with my scent just as he marked me with his. “I trust you,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his throat.
“Fuck, your scent…”
He’s an alpha possessed, an alpha I should fear. He’s nipped at my neck before, driven by his instinct to mate and claim. But I don’t fear him—or the bite that would bond me to him forever.
I slowly run my fingers through his hair, tracing my nails over his scalp, and he shudders at my touch.
He settles with each touch, his scent softening into warm summer days by the beach and, saints, he’s as hot as the July sun beneath me. I press my hand to his chest, mesmerized by all his bare, golden skin and the all-too tempting heat of him. “It was just a dream,” I say. “I’m here, and I’m safe.Yougave me this safe place, Cassian. It was all you.”
“I had to,” he sighs, his hands going to my thighs, bare where my soft terry shorts have ridden up.
Unbidden, I shiver.
We’ve never touched like this before. During that perfect, sanguine summer we spent together, our kisses were clumsy, but this is different. Our innocence has been stripped away, along with the hurt and lies that kept us apart, leaving something raw and fervent.
“All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you safe. I thought… I thought you’d be safer if you were away from Fairhaven. But I was so wrong, so very wrong, and I know better now. You’re safest where you’re loved.”
My heart skips a beat. “And where is that?”
He takes one of my hands in both of his and sets it over his heart. It beats a fast tattoo beneath my palm, and I curl my fingers against his bare skin, reveling in his heat, in his scent as it deepens into something delicious and sinful.
Summer sunshine and sea salt fill the space between us, but he closes it quickly, burying his nose in my neck again and letting out a low groan. I take his head in my hands and drag it up just enough to press my lips to his.
It shocks him out of his haze, and his eyes flash, smoke and whiskey, before he claims my mouth in a kiss that makes me whine, yearning and needy. Saints above, it’s so much better—so muchmore—than those clumsy kisses of our youth. He kisses me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. He kisses me like he’s afraid he’ll lose me.
His tongue slips between my parted lips before stroking against mine.
My perfume floods the air, and he lets out a growl of appreciation, fisting his hand in my hair, dragging me into another kiss I feel down to my very essence.
“You just perfumed. Forme.” There’s wonder in those growled words, and enough heat to make me want to kiss him again, to flood the living room with both of our scents, to shed my robe and thin tank top and press my bare skin to his.
He strokes the backs of his fingers along my jaw, drawing out goose bumps, and I lean into him, wanting—no, needing—more of his hot touch on my skin. He skates his fingers down my throat, and I shudder, aching for him to go further, to skim the tips of his fingers over my collarbones, over the swells of my breasts, over my hardened nipples.
I shift in his lap and whine when I find him as wanting as I am, hot and hard beneath me. I rock against him, and he lets out a hiss of pleasure, his hands going to my hips to draw me closer.
Our scents flood the air, sunshine and salty sea air, honey, vanilla and jasmine.
