“Look up,” Thorne says.
My eyes find his face first. His chin is lifted, gaze pinned directly overhead. Slowly, I allow myself to see what has him transfixed.
My heart stills.
Overhead the black sky is awash in tendrils of vibrant color, the same hues as my meteor shower memory. Rippling waves of pink, blue, green, and purple snake across the dark canvas, dancing amongst the multitude of stars. “What is that?”
“That’s an effect of three courts’ atmospheres colliding,” Thorne explains. “From here, we are witnessing the place where the Earthen Court meets Wind and Solar. The differing climates and air pressures create this effect.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” The word comes out with a breath, and I realize Thorne’s gaze is on me now. I can feel it burning against my profile. He clears his throat. “Do you want to capture it?”
I slowly shift my attention from the display of color to Thorne. “Capture it?”
“As a dreamscape.”
I glance back at the sky, and yearning fills every inch of me. “I do, but…I need to use my hands, and I can’t let go.” Just thinking about it has my stomach lurching. My arms reflexively tighten around him again.
“Sure you can,” he says, and I squeal as he shifts my weight. Keeping one hand firmly behind my back, he tugs my thigh until one leg is on each side of him.
“Thorne!” I clamp my thighs tight around his waist, circling it fully with my legs. Only now do I again recall how little I’m wearing. With his trousers so low on his hips, the thin muslin of my nightdress is all that separates our bare flesh. My next words come out breathless. “What are you doing?”
“You’re more secure this way. Keep your legs tight around me, and I’ll keep my arms around you. You can lift your hands and capture the sky as your dreamscape.”
So badly do I want to do that, but what he’s suggesting is madness. I can’t release my hold around his neck. There’s no way!
“You’re safe, Briony.”
“How do you know?”
“Because,” he says, “I will never let you go.”
That sweet warmth returns to my chest, softening the edges of my fear. Why do his words sound like they hold a dual meaning? And why do I so badly want to hear them?
He squeezes me tighter, as if to remind me where his arms are. “I’ll never let you fall. You can let go, but I won’t.”
My breaths come out shaky, but I feel emboldened by his assurance. Lulled into the safety of his arms. Clenching my legs even firmer around his waist, I slowly begin to untangle my arms from around his neck, one inch at a time. I expect to feel unsteady as I release him, but I remain in place, as secure as I was when I had him in a death grip. My hands settle upon his shoulders, my final resting place as I gather my nerve.
He gives me an encouraging nod.
With all the bravery I can muster, I tilt my head to the sky and lift my arms overhead. My lower half remains pressed against Thorne, bound tightly in his arms, his waist locked between my legs. Safe, just as he promised.
An exhilarating thrill ripples through me. A sense of freedom I’ve never felt buzzes inside my veins, my blood. I know I released my hands to frame the sky, but I’m finding far more enjoyment in simply feeling this free, this wild. Seeing my hands thrust out toward the wash of undulating color is almost too intoxicating to bear. I wonder if this is how Thorne feels when he flies.
He says nothing as I stretch out wider, taller, my head thrown back with the widest grin I think I’ve ever worn. Finally, I take my thumbs and forefingers, shaping a rectangle over the glorious vision overhead. I blink. And the memory is mine.
It’s almost agonizing to pull my gaze away from the sky, but I soon find an equally beautiful sight. My eyes find Thorne’s, and his face is transformed, his smile as wide as mine, his irises flashing with the multihued light reflected from the celestial canopy above. His gaze isn’t on the sky, though; it’s on me, drinking me in. I slowly draw my arms back down, resting them on his shoulders. His wings continue to pulse the air, making his muscles flex beneath my palms. Wind whips around us, stealing strands of my hair to tangle in the breeze, sending his dancing around his face.
Stars above, he’s beautiful.
Really fucking beautiful.
His smile shrinks, turning hesitant. Shy.
I lace one hand behind his neck, clawing into the hair at his nape, while the other cradles his jaw.
His eyelids grow heavy, throat bobbing. “Briony,” he whispers.
