CHAPTER ONE
I can’t takemy eyes off the full moon, even as lips press against the base of my throat. The celestial body basks in the glow of the unseen sun, forever taunting me, as if it knows this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to beholding its counterpart and revels in having my full attention. Shameless tease.
The moon and I have that in common, I suppose.
Hot breath skirts along my collarbone, and I reluctantly tear my gaze from the star-flecked sky to the man lapping at my skin like I’m something to be devoured. His chin brushes against the plunging neckline of my shift. I grab it, digging my fingertips into the wiry black-and-gray beard along his jaw with enough force to pry his tongue from my skin, though not so rough as to bruise his ego.
He flinches anyway, eyes burgeoning like a wounded animal’s. “Whatcha do that for?”
As much as I want to tell him his saliva feels like sticky wax, my teeth gnaw along the inside of my bottom lip, keeping the words restrained. I need this man, or rather, I need his crazed infatuation to lead to a proposal. So, I nod towards the eastern horizon and speaka different truth. “Dawn is coming.”
Moonlight highlights the lingering drool on his downturned mouth, and my muscles tense to refrain from recoiling. I force a pout as if I, too, resent the imminent sunrise for interrupting us. Fortunately, he can’t hear the silent gratitude I send to the sliver of pale navy streaking along the space where sand and sky collide. Blue hour is nearly upon us. Soon, sunlight will illuminate the black nightstone gate at my back and the surrounding dunes, bathing the world in its lethal golden rays . . . and magic.
A heady shiver races along my spine. Though it has nothing to do with the man beside me, his gaze misses nothing. He is a Guard of the Gate, after all—one of Caligo’s most prestigious positions, selected for his lethal perception and agility. It’s a shame that perception skews towards what he wants to see, not what’s truly there. Mistaking my movement for an invitation, his hands snatch my waist, pushing me flat against the closed gate.
“I can be quick,” he whispers, fists traveling lower to bunch up the loose chambray fabric of my dress.
A second, more violent shiver chills down my back as it presses into the stone.
I take his hands into my own and laugh. “I may not be a maiden, but I have taken the vow of celibacy until I remarry.”
It’s nonsense, of course, but I’m trusting that his reputation as “one of the good ones” will prove true. In case it doesn’t, I shift my weight, readying to knee his manhood.
“Understood.” He takes a sizable step backward. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted?—”
My shoulders sag.
“I do.” The lie rushes past my lips as the glimmer of interest singes out in his gray-blue irises, undoing months of careful glances, shysmiles, and whispered invitations. There isn’t enough time to find and coerce another mark—not when the selection ceremony for the Hunt is less than twenty-four hours away. Fingertips dancing along his leather-clad arm, I trace the pair of silver bands denoting his two decades of service and wrap my hand around the back of his neck. “But don’t you think it’ll be worth the wait?”
My words are a caress against his ear, and he swallows hard before his untended brows pinch together. “Hold on. You aren’t talking about marriage, are ya?”
I bat my lashes and fiddle with my tawny curls, ignoring the feverish warmth flooding to my cheeks. “Haven’t you considered it?”
He frowns, retreating another step from the imposing stone archway. “I couldn’t do that to my wife.”
Yourdeadwife, I mentally correct him before giving my mind a good slap. Reminding this man that, as of ten months ago, his wife of twenty-two years is no longer present on this earth is hardly the best way to win him over.
Turning, I tear a blade of marram grass from the brush grazing the edge of the pure black gate. It’s the only plant plucky enough to survive in the shifting sands, high winds, and nutrient-poor conditions of Caligo’s dunes. Its existence is a marvel. A rebellion, even. I twirl the green blade between my fingers, channeling its audacity.
“Wouldn’t she want you to find joy again?” I glance over my shoulder, allowing him to view the full weight of my longing. “Or maybe even love?”
The deep lines in his forehead soften as he shakes his head. “That’s what she wanted for me. To move on. Remarry. Get myself a good woman who’d dote on our boys, though they’re nearly grown men themselves now.” He chuckles, and the sound is heavy with bittersweet pride. “But replacing her? Don’t think I ever could.”
Great. This is what I get for choosing a widower as my mark, but what other choices do I have? Despite his eagerness to get under my dress, the man’s clearly still in love with his wife, and no lack of a pulse will change that. A woman in his bed is one thing; a woman in his heart is another.
“It’s nearing curfew.” He assesses the brightening sky with a growing heaviness, then picks up his black sword and helmet from the ground. Sand spills out as he resettles it atop his head. “We should go. Do ya mind?”
I respond by once again turning my back towards the gate recessed within the rocky surface of the gorge, giving him privacy as he pulls the two dangling keys from his belt and inserts them into the secret locks. After the second click, he taps against the frame. The knock is methodical and changes nightly—there’s no use memorizing the shifting rhythm, even if there were some way to survive the day up here. The arched nightstone doors groan open, and I swivel back around as another Guard of the Gate ushers us inside. Back to the glorified cage we call home.
“Cuttin’ it close.” The guardsman snorts through his helmet, and I could swear the two men share a wink.
The shifting sky draws my glance one more time as handles turn and hinges creak. In less than an hour, the blackness above will give way to hues I’ve only ever seen in faded texts and on the common area screens during the annual broadcast of the Hunt. My leg spasms with the urge to run back outside before the guards finish closing the gate. It’s an absurd thought that I dismiss, frowning at my legs as if they have a mind of their own, one that’s entirely void of logic. Sure, it would be nice to witness an aerial landscape that isn’t an inky canvas interrupted by specks of white. But given that it would likely be my first and last time witnessing the sun, that’s a theory bettersuited for dreams.
I continue fidgeting with the blade of grass while the doors grate back into place, sending echoes throughout the shallow cavern dimly lit by an oversized pendant made in the moon’s likeness and aglow with a violet bioluminescence. My sandals clap against the polished granite steps as I descend into the landing chamber, giving the two guards space as they share a hushed exchange.
Damp, nipping air chases off the final gust of warmth. A familiar weight settles over my lungs, and I tense, re-triggering the ache I’d been trying to ignore along my neck and above my right brow. If I’m lucky, I’ll convince this hopelessly devoted widower to change his mind and make it back to my cabin all before the nausea flares up.
Easy. It’s only my life on the line.
