I whipped my head around. Abram stood at the edge of the grove, utterly still. For a heartbeat, he looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe. His gaze caught on me and stopped. Not traveled. Stopped. His jaw tightened, and something dark flickered behind his eyes before he looked away, too quickly.
When his attention swept the grove, his shoulders went rigid. Candlelight reflected off his skin as his fingers curled at his sides.
He swallowed, eyes flashing red for the briefest instant, then turned as if the sight of me was something he could not afford to face.
“Where are we?” he asked.
My thoughts scattered. Words lodged in my throat as he stepped forward again. His boot snapped a twig. The sound jolted me back into myself. I surged to my feet, lifting my hands.
“Stop.”
He ignored me and kept coming.
“Abram,” I said, my voice breaking. “Please.”
“You don’t need to be dramatic, little weaver.” He kept coming toward me. “Let’s talk about this, because I’m genuinely concerned that you’re going to marry a prick.”
Another step. And another. Each step echoed around me like chains weighing me down. He would kill me if he were stuck with me.
“No. You need to stop,” I yelled.
He froze, just short of the faint glow etched into the ground. The binding circle.
“Elowyn,” he said carefully. “Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”
His gaze swept the grove, the candles, the veil. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by disbelief.
“You’re getting married. Right now?”
His jaw clenched as his attention snapped back to me. Gods, he looked unimpressed. Or hurt. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t form a single godsdamn sentence.
“After everything with Belion?” he asked.
His eyes swirled red, struggling to hold their shape. I dragged in a shaky breath, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“Yes,” I said. “You need to leave. And don’t come any closer.”
My gaze dropped to his boot, two steps from crossing the spell. His eyes flashed completely red.
“You want me to leave?” he asked.
No.
The word burned in my chest. I wanted to belong to him. I always had. But he had never looked at me the way I looked athim. Whatever moments I had clung to over the years, whatever glances or visits I had read too much into, they had never meant what I hoped.
He would never be mine.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His face fell as he seemed to weigh his choices. His gaze swept the grove again, searching for the man I had summoned.
He stepped closer without realizing it.
Too close.
My pulse spiked. The circle shimmered faintly beneath my feet, invisible to him, waiting. I hated the thought that crept into my mind—I could let him step forward. I shoved it away before it could take root. I wasn't that cruel or desperate.
“Fine,” he whispered.
