Corabeth’s chest tightened impossibly as she listened, making it hard to even breathe. She had not guessed that while she had been terrified of being left behind, he had been in the grasp of similar fears.
“Rooke,” she said gently, taking another step closer to him. “You thought I was afraid of you? After that night?”
“You did a poor job of hiding it,” Rooke scoffed.
Corabeth almost wanted to laugh. “If you saw fear, it wasn’t because of you,” she said, before she realized she’d taken a step down a path that inevitably meant confessing her true feelings. She had not even properly acknowledged or examined them herself, instead keeping them neatly tucked away along with everything that felt too heavy.
“What do you mean?” Rooke asked, his frown deepening. The moonlight gave him an ethereal look, turning his skin nearly translucent, as if he belonged more to the mists outside than to this flesh-and-blood form Corabeth’s fingers ached to touch.
She swallowed, her head filled with thoughts that kept chasing each other, but somehow, she was unable to voice a single one of them. It all seemed too complicated, too sudden. But was there ever a perfect moment when she would feel entirely ready? She took a deep breath and instead thought back on that night, on what exactly had terrified her.
“I was frightened of what I was feeling,” she finally confessed, looking down at where she was wringing her own hands. “Perhaps I should have been afraid of you. I saw the logic behind it even then, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel it. I never could. Instead, I was consumed by how much I wanted it.”
Rooke’s hand reached out to rest on her own hands, settling them.
Corabeth lifted her gaze, only to find Rooke already watching her. “Why are we each other’s tormentors when we are afraid of the same things?” she asked.
“I did not dare to hope…” Rooke said, awe and astonishment mixing in his own expression. Tentatively, he lifted his hand to Corabeth’s face, fingers gently brushing her cheek, as if he were afraid any sudden or harsh movements would scare her away.
Corabeth closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, letting him cup her cheek. She was grateful Rooke’s other hand was still on her hands, for she was afraid they might tremble terribly. When she opened her eyes again, Rooke had barely moved closer, although it was now clear they were destined to collide, two heavenly bodies caught in each other’s gravity.
Torturously slowly, Rooke drifted closer and bent down slightly until his forehead rested against hers. For an agonizing moment, their breaths, hot and heady, mingled. It was Corabeth who closed the distance and brushed her lips against his.
It was a slow, almost tentative kiss, meant to put all of their fears to rest. It was all that was needed to ignite Rooke. The world outside of them ceased to exist, everything narrowing down to the press of his lips, to his hand that now confidently found its way to the back of Corabeth’s neck, pulling her closer.
As the kiss deepened, Corabeth leaned into Rooke and snaked her arms around his neck. His lips, soft but firm, moved sensuously against hers, stirring something deep within her. She felt him tense against her—a tightening of his fingers on herwaist, lips, hungry and deprived, demanding more—before he softened again. There was a wildness in him that got tamed over and over again. She longed to unleash that wildness then, upon her, upon the entire world.
When Rooke finally pulled back, breath uneven, his gaze searched hers. Corabeth peered back only with gentleness in her eyes as she reached up, brushing her fingers along his jaw.
“I know how to help you, Rooke,” she said, letting her hand slip down to his chest where his heart beat wildly. There was comfort in knowing her heart wasn’t in this chase alone.
“What do you mean?” Rooke asked with the slightest frown, still dazed from the kiss.
“I can bring them to you,” Corabeth said.
At this, Rooke almost reared back. He would have succeeded if Corabeth had not fisted the lapels of his jacket and held him in place. Now that he was so close to her, she did not want to let him go at all.
“What are you saying, Corabeth?” Rooke asked, but stopped pulling away.
“The Fabels need to die to break your curse, you know this. I can bring them to you,” Corabeth explained once more, although Rooke still seemed equally confused.
“I will not turn you into my accomplice,” Rooke said, shaking his head.
Corabeth smiled up at him and ran a gentle hand over his cheek once more. “I’m doing it for quite selfish reasons, you see,” she said. “Ely pushed me up against a wall and squeezed my neck until it was impossible for me to scream for help. His brother, Turner, had taught him that neat trick. He stood watch, said it was time for Ely to become a man. Moments before that, I witnessed a distressed girl stumble out of their house. Their father, the Village Elder, saw them assaulting me. I saw in his eyes he knew the truth of what had happened. And yet, he turnedthe entire village against me, accused me of seducing his son. The youngest, Giles, was the one to throw the rock that injured my head.”
As she spoke, Rooke’s expression turned thunderous, his hold on her tightening ever so slightly.
“I want you to become my weapon,” Corabeth finally said.
There was still a silent war raging inside Rooke. Corabeth saw it in the way his features shuddered. His eyes told her he was still unconvinced whether she was being entirely serious. But she had never been more serious about anything in her entire life.
“If you are hesitating for my sake, no need,” Corabeth comforted him. She ran a soothing hand down his chest. A strange calmness had come upon her now that she had voiced her desires. The craving for revenge had wormed its way into her, eaten away at her, and finally, the empty shell fell away, exposing her hideous insides. If there was anyone who understood that hideousness, Corabeth hoped it would be Rooke. “Do you think I am a monster for suggesting it?”
Rooke sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he brushed a strand of stray hair behind Corabeth’s ear. “If you are a monster, then you are the monster that they made you,” he said. The doubts finally cleared from his expression, leaving behind only acceptance. “And what a pair we make.”
At this, they smiled at each other. A somber kind of smile that spoke of quiet understanding. They were two wronged souls that had found solace in one another against all odds.
“I will be your weapon,” Rooke finally said, “and you, my mistress.”
