Another deep sound from Monty. “I’ve never been particular about sex, Cosette. You know that. If you’re offering, I’ll take it. But I will never return it. I will never,evergive you what you want. My feelings for you are less than dirt.”
“You’re cruel, Monty.”
“Less so than you.” There’s no amusement in his tone. No teasing. No seduction.
I slowly begin to back down the path, careful to keep my steps quiet. My stomach turns over having been privy to such an intimate conversation, as well as…whatever they’re doing now. And with that comes a heavy dose of disgust for the man that is supposed to be my future husband. The anger I didn’t feel when I first overhead them now comes to a boil, but it isn’t from hurt or envy. It’s something fiercer. Bolder. The knowledge that I deserve better than this. Stars, even Cosette deserves better than this.
A feminine gasp pierces the air and my bare toe snags on the edge of the next paving stone. I lose my footing with a hiss of agony and fall. I catch myself on my palms, but one knee slams into stone, sending a sharp pain through my leg. I bite back a cry, and the muffled sounds of the two lovers cut off.
“Did you hear that?” Cosette whispers.
“Hear what?”
I remain crouched in place, not daring to move. Warmth trickles down my shin; my knee’s collision with the paving stone must have broken skin. My heart hammers so loud, I fear they’ll hear it. I can’t let them find me. I can’t face them, not until I’ve gathered my bearings, my composure. I can’t let Monty humiliate me one more time.
The muffled sounds resume, each audible kiss fueling my anger. I try to stand, but my leg is still lanced with pain. So instead, I close my eyes. Cover my ears. And try to think of anything else. Be anywhere else. Hear anything else.
Hands close over my shoulders, but the touch feels too light. Too insubstantial. I open my eyes and find Thorne hovering before me, my meteor shower dreamscape all around us. Damn it! How did this happen? Thorne’s presence is hardly better than the company of Monty and Cosette’s midnight tryst. I nearly curse out loud.
He shakes my shoulders again, and I know it’s his dream form, for his grip is all wrong. Weak where it should be strong. Cold where it should be warm. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
Clenching my jaw, I seek my unruly magic, trying to untangle whatever thread summoned him here, but it’s too enmeshed with my rage, my annoyance, my desperation to be anywhere but here.
Thorne crouches before me. “Tell me where you are.”
I shake my head, unable to speak for fear of being overheard. Found out. Pitied by Monty. Smirked at by Cosette. I can’t show him the garden either, for it isn’t an image I’ve framed. With us in separate locations, he won’t be able to see my true surroundings even if I lower my dreamscape.
Placing his forefinger under my chin, he lifts my eyes to his. Through his teeth, he speaks. “Tell me where you are.”
I give in, mouthinggardenas clearly as I can.
He nods. “End the daydream.”
If I weren’t already so enraged, I’d be even more so at his demand. Yet I do as he says, blinking hard and relinquishing my control over the dreamscape. Both Thorne and the meteor shower disappear. I keep my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear if the activities on the other side of the hedge have escalated. I stare sightlessly ahead until a shadow blots out starlight. By the time I glance up, there’s nothing. Then a startled female cry rings out, loud enough to make it past the palms over my ears. I lower them and hear Monty’s voice.
“Fucking stones, Thorne, where the hell did you come from?”
Thorne’s voice is a deadly growl. “Get. Out. Of. My. Garden.”
Silence. Then Monty’s tone turns light. Easy. “Gladly. It’s not like I was enjoying myself here. This was a mistake. As all things are with you, Cosette.”
“Monty!” Cosette’s voice is edged with desperation. Two sets of footsteps pound the stones, growing more distant with every beat. Only one remains. Slow. Soft. Drawing near.
Soon Thorne stands before me. He’s dressed in dark trousers and a cream linen nightshirt, the collar open. I remember the shadow that passed overhead, just before his presence startled the trysting couple. He must have flown to find me so fast, but there’s no sign of horns or wings. He extends a hand. “Come on.”
I shake my head. I hate that he had to save me.Again. “Just…go. I can find my own way back.”
He releases an aggrieved sigh and crouches beside me. Before I know what’s happening, he snakes one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back. In one swift movement, he hefts me in his arms and rises to his feet. Without thinking, I instinctively encircle his neck with my arms.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He says nothing, only carries me down the garden path. Despite my anger that he keeps playing the part of my rescuer while I’ve only come to look increasingly foolish, the weight off my injured leg is a comfort. Perhaps even more so is the warmth of his arms. For just this moment, I let myself settle into him. Let myself be carried. Comforted. His aroma—a medley of clean laundry mingling with something sweet like burnt sugar—invades my senses.
Thorne pulls up short. I lift my head to find Monty and Cosette at the entrance to the gardens. Monty stares down at her, lips curled in disgust, while she grips his collar, expression pleading.
“Why are you still here?” Thorne’s voice ripples with rage, chest heaving against me.
Monty’s fingers circle Cosette’s wrists and force her hands from his collar. “We were just leaving. And Cosette will be departing at first light.”
