“How do you know my name?” I ask, taking a step forward again.
She doesn’t move away from me, nor does she look scared or confused.
Only sad.
Always so fucking sad.
Immediately, my anger at her secret starts to fade. It doesn’t surprise me she has as much of an influence on me here as she does in our dream state. I’m sure if she gave me the chance, I’d let her have full control over me as long as it meant never losing the sight of her beautiful face again or the floral and tea scent that arouses me more than it probably should.
Instead of answering my question, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Taking another step forward, I watch the way she reacts to me closing some of the distance between us. Her breath grows shaky, and she instinctively leans closer to me.
When her wide eyes meet mine, a rush of emotions hits me like a hex to the heart.
I only let myself have a taste of them at first, but when she looks at me, they slam into me. Stronger than ever before.
The longing and heartbreak that courses through both of us mix with my adrenaline and exhilaration, creating a confusing yet intoxicating cocktail of emotions.
It fuels me forward until there’s only a couple of inches standing in the way of knowing what her body feels like against mine. I don’t close that gap though.
I do what I’ve literally dreamed about for over a decade.
I reach up and brush my fingers along her cheek.
Her skin is smooth like silk, and the lingering blush is warm against my fingers. She lets out a little gasp at the contact, and I’m hit by another wave of her sweet scent.
In other circumstances, I’d rub myself like a cat against her, already intoxicated by the touch.
Her breath shudders as her eyes close at the contact. I’m not sure she realizes how much she leans into my touch. I do it a second time, suspecting she’s going to pull away from me in three… two… one…
“Archer,” she breathes out with a shake of her head.
Taking a deep, frustrated breath, I put more of that godforsaken space between us and mutter, “I’m sorry—probably shouldn’t have done that.”
With a teasing tilt of her head, she whispers, “No, I don’t think you are.”
I shrug and offer her a haphazard smirk in response.
She chuckles, and it’s more playful than anything else I’ve gotten from her thus far. The sad gleam in her eye is still present, and suddenly, I’m worried it might always be.
“I have to go,” she says, starting to inch around me.
I have to fight the protective instincts that are already growing at an exponentially fast rate. I let out a disappointed sigh and drop my hand, taking a step back.
Helplessly, I ask, “Go where?”
She offers me a small, genuine smile when she says, “My coven’s waiting for me—it’s nearly dinnertime.”
Turning on her heel, she jogs back out of the maze, leaving me speechless in the wake of meeting her. Subconsciously, I take a step forward, not meaning to follow after her, but being pulled to do so. I’m stopped by a loudcawfrom above me. A large raven is perched on one of the ornate arches, rousing in a sharp warning. When I don’t make another move, the raven flies after her, leaving me to watch her disappear for the thousandth time. Only it’s so much worse than ever before.
There was happiness when she spoke of her coven, making it a little easier to let her walk away without following her. With every step she puts between us, my heart wants to crawl out of my chest in an attempt to stay close to her.
After she raced off, I was stunned in place.
There are so many important things to consider, an endless amount of threads to untangle—yet all I can think about are those soft, faint freckles spreading across her cheeks.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking into the library. The sleep elixir has been forgotten in favor of trying to decide what those freckles remind me of.
