The sunset blazed over the horizon, setting the ocean aflame. It lit her in gold and pink, softening the edges of her until she appeared to be the thing that glowed, not the sun.
Ignoring the twinge of his bruises, Sloane squeezed her tight against him. That raw nerve in his chest burned when she was so near, when he got to touch her, when she draped herself against him, when she was just…Cecilia.It wasn’t the bad kind of burn. It was the good kind, like a growing pain or sore muscles after a hard mission. He never wanted it to go away.
We have to leave,he thought, arms tightening around his consort’s middle. But how could he explain that to her without telling her everything else?
“What’s with the shag rug?”
Sloane sucked in a deep breath through his helmet’s filter. It took him a beat to figure out what she was referring to. “In the bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
“It looked like yours,” he explained.
“I figured, but why did you want your room to look like mine? You’re not exactly a pink and sparkles kind of guy. I mean, look at the rest of the house. You don’t even have pictures on the walls.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. “We could make this place more homey, you know? But I wouldn’t want it to just bemytaste.”
As often happened with Cecilia, Sloane experienced a mix of opposing emotions. It was a heady thing, knowing she wanted to make a home with him. Arealhome. Something he hadn’t experienced since he was six years old and never thought he’d have again. But he couldn’t give that to her. Not here. Not when they would have to run —shouldhave run already.
Choosing his answer carefully, Sloane said, “I like your taste. Soft things are… rare in my life. Your apartment seemed comforting. I wanted that.”
“Hm.” She watched him closely, but he had no idea what thoughts ran through her tricky mind. He’d stopped trying to guess, since he was always wrong. Cecilia had an incredible ability to surprise him at every turn.
The bow of the ribbon she used as a headband brushed his helmet when she looked back at the ocean. Waves crashed against gritty rocks far below them. The air was cool, but the warmth of the sun still managed to touch their little bubble of peace.
Cecilia wore a soft lavender sweater over jeans and shiny white boots. Her cheeks were dark from the brisk, salty breeze and her eyes glittered with the reflected sunset. Sloane couldn’t stop himself from cupping her jaw. Turning her head to face him again, he held her there with infinite care.
“What?” she breathed, a smile pulling at her lips.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the corner of her jaw, savoring the slight burn in the beds of his claws. All he wanted to do was look at her. It was all he’d ever wanted. To have so much more than that was still hard to process.
Sloane struggled with the tight, panicked feeling in his chest — a fear that at any moment she’d be stolen from him. His trainers used to give him precious things only to snatch them away, teaching him the value of deprivation. But he’d never had anything so precious as her.
To lose her now, when he was so close to being chosen, would be unendurable.
No wonder the doctor thought we couldn’t handle this,he realized with dread.We can’t. We can’t survive the loss of it.
“I…” He trailed off, unsure what he meant to say. His throat constricted as his body fought conflicting instincts.
Finding a few words he knew were horribly inadequate, he said, “I enjoy this. You. I don’t want anything to change.”
Cecilia let out a soft breath. “I don’t know… Some change can be good, don’t you think?”
His jaw clenched. “Do you want to leave?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she assured him. “I’m talking about doing normal couple things. You did great last night, so I don’t see why we couldn’t go back to the city and?—”
“It’s too dangerous.”
It did something explosive to his ego when she simply rolled her eyes, utterly unconcerned. “Listen, champ, I’m not worried about danger. I’ve got you. Who would dare hurt me when I’vegot a hunky elf boyfriend who can literally rip them limb from limb?”
Sloane let out an astonished breath. “I’m not your boyfriend.”
“You’re my mate,” she corrected herself. Hearing it come from her lips sent an electric shock through his body.
“Yes,” he whispered. “And you’re mine.”
Ever curious, his brilliant consort asked, “What does it feel like for you?”
He shook his head. “You’re asking the wrong elf. I’m not good at describing feelings.”
