“Why?”
“Because you make me feel like the person I wish I could be. The person I pretended to be while I was at university. The person I can never become again.”
I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say more, dreading that he will, hoping he’ll pull away, fearing I’ll never feel warm again if he does.
His eyes return to mine, rich with agony. “Someone who deserves to be happy.”
I want to ask why he doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, but I can’t form a word, can do nothing but stare at his lips as he steps even closer to me. With his forearm still propped against the tree over my head, he lifts the other from my shoulder to my cheek, cupping it softly.
My vision blurs, mind spinning at the feel of his skin on mine, the gentleness of his caress, the cold knowing that he’s going to try to kiss me again.
And then it will be over.
My curse broken.
His life ended.
I shutter my eyes to clear them and watch as his lips part. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he says. “I can’t kiss you. Kissing you could destroy me.”
So don’t, I try to say but my tongue won’t free the words.
“So badly I’ve wanted to, though. Every day since I pushed you away when your lips nearly compromised my vows and damned my standing with the church. You tempt me in every way. You are the most delectable ruin.”
He leans in.
My lips burn, dark magic swarming through them, rioting in anticipation of his kiss. His death. The end of their despicable power.
I try not to move.
Try to swallow my dread, stop my heart from aching, breaking, shattering—
“Why did you kill the fae?” I all but bark the words, wielding them like a shield.
He stops, his lips an inch from my own, and pulls back slightly. “What?”
“When you were a boy,” I say, voice quavering. “Why did you kill the fae?”
His hand slides from my cheek and drops to his side. He pushes off from the tree with the other, planting several more inches of space between us. “I never told you about that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Then you know who I am.” His voice is low, gravelly. “You know…what I’ve done.”
I nod.
“You know about my father too? How he died? His crimes?”
“Yes.”
His lips curl in anger. “I told you about my past tonight, and you said nothing. You acted like you didn’t know.”
“Please,” I say, my voice breaking with desperation, “just tell me how it happened.”
“If you know what I’ve done, what else is there to say?”
“I’ve heard only rumors, but I need to know what’s true.”
“You mean, about me being a killer? About how I stabbed a sea fae—a creature that had been chained in iron, weakened by torture at my father’s hands—and bathed in her blood? About how feeble she was when I killed her? How I could have warded her off with one swipe and instead stabbed her seven times?”
