The shadows beneath the bench writhed like living things, caressing Quinn’s back as he moved above me. His civilized pretenses might have been stripped away by those tendrils, dissolving his usual eloquence into darker sounds.
“I’ve barely begun,” he whispered, and even his voice was a vibration that went straight to that pool of accumulating heat. “How do you intend to keep quiet when my touch alone merits such a response?”
A fever bloomed in my cheeks as I rocked back against the bench. I bit my tongue, wary of making any noise beyond breaths, even now when my thoughts were all consumed by him.
“I’d die happy if I could make you forget to be careful, just for a moment. A whimper,” he suggested, the speed of those worshipful fingers hastening so that my mind was ablaze. “A sigh.”
A tiny sound escaped me as I climbed towardsomething—not quite voice, more breath than anything, but shaped like the beginning of his name. I caught myself, hand flying to my mouth in horror, and we both froze.
Quinn shuddered as if lightning had struck him. For one terrifying moment, his eyes were completely black, as if the Lord of Night possessed him. Then he broke through the haze.
“N-no,” Quinn wrenched himself back, the heat in his eyes replaced with stark fear. I watched the shadows reluctantly release their hold. The memory of us remained in his trembling hands.
I knew my curse hadn’t hit him, it wasn’t my voice but a mere click at the back of my tongue, but we both felt how close it had been. How near I’d come to losing control. My whole body trembled with denied release and delayed terror.
But something else gnawed at me: the way the shadows had wrapped around him like a lover. The way his control had shattered so completely, transforming him into someone I barely recognized, and I’d just…accepted that.
What was wrong with me?
I should have known something was wrong. The Lord of Night’s presence had been so thick between us, almost gleeful.
The briefest relief washed over Quinn as he meditated on his feelings and found no difference, and then dread wove its way into his features.
“What am I doing?”
I sat up with him, reaching desperately for the retracting warmth. He backed away, too far to take hold of.
“Please,”I signed fervently, rising from the bench. Gods, if I could use my voice to seduce him into staying—
No. No, I couldn’t. This thing between us, this torment…it was real. I couldn’t compromise it. Better to see his heart break than to corrupt it.
“Quinn, please don’t go.”
He hesitated, eyes wide with shock at his own actions. “My heart is begging me to go to you, to give you anything you want.”
Quinn staggered despite himself, close enough to touch. His whole body shook with the effort of resistance, his hands trembling to touch me once more. They reached up against his volition, cupping my face, and gods help me, I leaned into his touch. The shadows returned.
“I can’t,” his voice broke. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. Everything in me is screaming to take you away from here. To give you everything, to never let you speak another man’s name. To hear your voice, knowing it would destroy me. I would let you do that to me, Alana. I would let you ruin me.”
His hands found respite in the silk of my gown.
“It’s like a knife is twisting through me.”
He met my eyes then, and I saw his pain with such strength that I regretted asking anything of him. I tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go.
“My poor Nightingale,” he whispered.
For a moment he shifted closer, desire pulling him forward. His eyes dropped to my mouth.
Then, with a roar of pure agony, he pulled away, stumbling back into the hedge wall.
“No more,” he gasped. “Ask nothing more of me, Alana. I’ll break; I will betray all that I am, and we’ll both be damned for it.”
He fled, crashing through the maze like a wounded beast. I watched his shadow grow small until I was alone with the weight of what I’d done. I fell back onto the bench, hollowed out, and looked up at the moon. The Lord of Night watched all, and it was not disapproval I felt tethered to my soul.
Chapter 32
The ride toCaermont differed from the previous trips in that, curiously, the sight of all poverty within the outer district was missing, as if that entire population had evacuated. The stench of waste remained, significantly weakened by the lack of bodies and the burning of sage within straw totems. In addition, the streets appeared to have been swept, decorated with floral accents.
