“It’s more like the Whim knows whereIneed to go.” She glances up at me with a knowing smile. “I come here sometimes. To study. To think.” Her shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. “It’s peaceful.”
The sounds of the festival start to fade as we walk deeper. The hedges grow taller, the darkness thicker now that we’ve ventured farther into the maze. Candles still float around us, their glow spilling across the path in pools of yellow and gold. The music becomes a faint thrum in the distance.
Poppy leads me through a series of turns—left, then right, then left again—getting me lost in a matter of moments. She holds my hand the whole time, and I decide I’d follow her through these corridors forever if she’d let me.
After a short while of walking along in the quiet, the only sound the crunching of dry autumn leaves beneath our boots and the faraway thump of drums, the maze opens into a small clearing. At its center stands a gnarled oak tree, its tangled roots rising above the ground, its branches spread so wide that I wonder how I didn’t see it this whole time.
Magic, I think.
“Has this always been here?” I ask Poppy. “The tree, I mean. I’ve never seen it here before.”
She releases my hand, stepping into the light cast by a few flickering candles that float around the tree’s limbs. “I don’t know. I found it when I was a first-year. Now the Whim always brings me here when I ask.” She rocks onto her toes, then back—her cute nervous habit.
“Guess it likes you,” I say.
That makes both of us.
I follow her into the clearing, and the air feels different here—warm and heavy with whatever magic is enchanted into the maze.
Poppy turns toward me, and not for the first time tonight, the sight of her steals my breath. The black dress hugs her body, leaving less to my imagination than her typical chunky sweaters do. Her lavender hair escaped its pins during our dance and falls around her shoulders, and her glasses catch the golden glow as a candle drifts by.
Goddess, she’s beautiful.
“Aric?” she says softly.
I blink, refocusing on her. “Hmm?”
She glances away from my eyes, her gaze tracing my mouth. Then she nibbles her bottom lip, and her cheeks turn a dark pink.
Maybe she’s thinking about Faunwood. About our night together. About how we explored each other’s bodies while tucked into that bed, staring into each other’s eyes.
I haven’t been able tostopthinking about it.
Slowly, I close the distance between us. My hands find her waist, the fabric of her dress silky beneath my palms, and I back her gently against the old oak. She tips her head up to look at me, her fingers curling into my vest, pulling me just a bit closer. Like an invitation.
So I kiss her. She meets me eagerly, her lips parting, her tongue brushing mine in a soft touch that sends heat down my spine.
Her hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders, and into the hair at the nape of my neck. When she tugs on the fewloose strands that’ve come free from my topknot, my breath catches. I deepen the kiss, drinking in the little sounds she makes, the gasps and breaths and those hitched whines that send my cock jumping in my trousers.
Fuck, I want her to touch me again.
The scent of her—like peppermint and old books—wraps around me, dizzying. My hands roam from her waist to the small of her back, tracing the line of her spine until she arches into me, her body pressed fully against mine.
“Poppy,” I murmur against her smooth brown skin, kissing along her jaw, tasting the pulse at her throat, being careful not to nick her with my tusks. She shivers, tilting her head to give me more access to her neck.
Her fingers find the buttons of my vest, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she frees them. The fabric slides off my shoulders and falls to the ground with a whisper. Her palms skim over my shirt, tracing the lines of my chest. Every touch feels deliberate and curious, with a touch of nervousness underneath.
I pull back just enough to see her face—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes half lidded. “You drive me crazy, Poppy Waverly,” I whisper.
“Really?” she asks, her voice a delicate sound in the quiet night.
“Really.” I laugh softly, but it’s swallowed between our lips as I kiss her again—slower now, deeper. My hands curve around her hips, thumbs brushing the edge of her corseted bodice. She makes a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a whimper, and I wish suddenly that I could tear the fabric from her body, trace my tongue over every inchof her skin, and settle myself between her thighs until she gasps my name.
But the part of me that’s still sane knows better, knows I want her too much to rush this.
Still, when she clutches the front of my shirt and murmurs my name, my resolve slips. I kiss her again, and this time she pulls me down with her, both of us tumbling onto the soft carpet of fallen leaves beneath the oak.
She lets out a startled laugh that dissolves into a sigh as I catch her and settle her gently onto the ground, then lean over her and cover her mouth with mine. The earth is cool, the scent of moss and autumn thick in the air. Dry leaves cling to Poppy’s hair, crackling softly every time she moves. Above us, the floating candles flicker, their light catching on her skin and her glasses, turning her into something glowing and almost otherworldly.
