To the way he held me as though he had every right.
To the way he makes me feel wanted. Needed.
To the impossible, inexplicable pull that keeps drawing me toward him, no matter how firmly I tell myself to resist it.
I cannot lie still with it any longer. I push the blankets aside and sit up, my pulse already quickening as though my body has made the decision ahead of my mind.
Barefoot, I slip quietly from the house and into the cold night. The air bites at my skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat coiling low inside me.
Without allowing myself the chance to reconsider, I turn toward the barn.
20
Cold mud squelches beneath my bare feet as I cross the yard, my nightgown dragging low and darkening at the hem with every step. The night presses close, the lantern in the window of my house now distant behind me. I should turn back. I know I should.
But my body keeps moving.
The barn looms ahead, a darker shape against the darker sky. I reach the door and hesitate, nerves crackling beneath my skin as I curl my fingers around the handle and push it open inch by inch.
It groans softly.
I slip inside, breath shallow, the door closing behind me with a muted thud. Darkness greets me at once, broken only by thin seams of moonlight slipping through the gaps between the wooden boards, dust motes drifting lazily in the silver glow.
My gaze sweeps over the ground level first. Bags of seed stacked along one wall, coils of rope, broken tools, hay piled in uneven mounds. Nothing stirs. The air smells of earth and straw and old wood.
Then I shiver. Not from fear, but from cold.
It rolls down from above. My gaze lifts.
The loft.
I swallow hard and move to the ladder, my hands trembling as I climb, rung by rung, the chill deepening with every step. When I reach the top and peer over the edge, my breath leaves me all at once.
Luceran lies stretched across a pile of hay.
His shirt is gone, his fur coat cast aside beside him. Moonlight spills over his bare form, turning pale skin pearlescent, almost luminous. One arm rests behind his head, the other draped across his chest in an easy, relaxed sprawl.
Frost curls through the air around him, whispering and coiling as though drawn to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest, the runes etched into his skin begin to glow, tracing the lines of his ribs and sides, flaring softly as muscle shifts beneath them.
I step closer, careful and silent, though my heart pounds so loudly I am certain it will give me away. I do not know why I came. I do not know what I expected. Only that something in me refused to let me stay away.
I lift my hand.
It hovers inches from his chest, fingers trembling as the cold radiates from him, curling around my skin like mist. I want to touch him so badly it aches. No, it has gone beyond want. It is a ridiculous, irrational need.
I lean in just a fraction more, surrendering to the pull I can no longer deny.
His hand shoots out.
Cold fingers snap around my wrist, dragging me forward in a sudden, breath stealing pull.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep, low enough to vibrate through me.
“I…I…”The words tangle uselessly in my throat. WhatamI doing here? The mortifying truth presses down all at once. This is absurd.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
I turn my head, try to pull away, but his grip tightens instead of loosens, fingers locking around my wrist.
