Ransom is the only thing alive here, other than me.Trulyalive. And I need to remember how it feels to run my hands over something warm. Something beating.
“How’s a bloke supposed to get any breakfast around here?” He takes a step toward me, only inches of red between us.
I keep my voice light. “I don’t know. Bram’s out back, though, chopping firewood. If anyone does know, it would be him.”
Ransom gazes at me through hooded lashes, eyes like stones in a river. “Do you think the dead eat?”
It is a horrid thought, and the answer is, I don’t know. I am sure I don’twantto.
All I can smell is food. The imaginations of lemon scones, fresh butter, roasted venison… My stomach rumbles, and I place a hand on the fabric of my dress. Ithrandril be damned, I am hungry. I should have thought this through before we left. This and more.
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I offer.
“I’m sure we will.” He closes the distance between us yet again, lifts a brow. “Look, Adelaide, I was hoping we could talk.”
“We’re talking now.”
“Right, well. I suppose I mean alone.Alone, alone.” His fingers reach toward my waist, barely brushing me, but it is enough to send his pupils wide with desire.
Heat claws up my throat, my ears, and my eyes drop to his parted lips, soft as rosebuds in June. The confessional is hot at my back. A secret space, quiet,alone. And then loathing pulses through me, if only for a moment.
Whatever you do, daughter-mine, do not let him touch you. The Lord Blacks are tricky gods.
Father’s words cloud my mind. Etch themselves into my skin until I am sure I will bleed black in this forest.
Ransom closes any semblance of a gap left between us and splays his hand against my navel, his touch so warm it burns. I shouldn’t want this,can’twant this. But Ithrandril above, I do. More than anything. Perhapssimply to spurn Father, maybe only to touch something alive, but I do not push away the feeling, the rapt desire to have his skin against my own.
Yes, I think. Yes, I do have something to confess. I have entered the realm of the dead, have used a Reaper’s bell to steal souls back from the grave. Surely, damnation awaits me, so what is the sweet sting of a little lust on my tongue?
I rock forward, arching into Ransom’s touch, and part my lips mere inches from his own. “Come with me.”
Ransom’s hand is hot in mine when I push him through the creaking door of the confessional and follow inside. The air is tight, and the weight of all the wool on my body makes me itch. A catch of sweat breaks out along my neck, and I think I might explode if I don’t get a drop of normalcy soon. Just a little hint of what realitycouldbe.
“How’s this?” My mouth is a hair’s breadth from Ransom’s.
“Perfect.”
I steady myself against one wall, and my heart beats an unruly pattern against my ribs. Ransom’s hands smooth down my waist, over the curve of my bottom. He makes a sound low in his throat that lights a fire inside me.
“Ransom.” My voice is a rasp, dry stalks of wheat against skin.
He presses a knee between my thighs, drawing a gasp from my throat.
“Yes?” His jaw is rough against my cheek. He dips his tongue to suck the sensitive skin behind my ear.
My stomach sharpens with a hot tug of desire. My hands go to his chest, his throat, up, up, up, into the soft golden curls at the nape of his neck.
Everything has been hell these past few days. Burying Lilith, then Hester, finding the bell, Bram, my father threatening to send me away…and I want it to all wash away. To be forgotten.
Back home, in Rixton, I picture our wedding day. Spring sunshine, blossoms bursting pink and white in the orchards. Home, where Ransom and I could live far away from the prying eyes of the village. Home…
And then I stumble upon the truth of it all.
We might not return home.
This might be the end of everything, here in this wood between.
With Ransom’s lips so close I could reach out and bite them, take them, I don’t have to think about the could-bes. His shoulders flex beneath myhands, and he lets out another groan. I suck in a breath, and then, for a second, I picture Bram.
