Ambrose’s lips tightened as I stepped closer. He stood half a head taller than me, and I resisted the urge to stare at his mouthnow level with my eyes, the ghost of its softness sending sparks along the scar at my neck.
Instead, my gaze dropped.
Our shadows had begun to unspool across the floor, reaching for each other, winding together as one. It was the first time since that night that they’d touched. They moved like old flames, mine slightly erratically as they pulsed with undeniable pleasure at the contact. Heat crept up my cheeks as I prayed he hadn’t noticed.
But just before the darkness swallowed us whole, Ambrose’s eyes dropped to where our shadows met.
And in that flicker of expression, I saw something cross his face that made me wish we’d traveled separately.
Sorrow.
Chapter 3. Ambrose
The shadows cleared, and I resisted the instinct to let mine caress Blaise one final time. It was better not to linger. No matter how much I craved him—stillcraved him, six months after I’d crossed a line I’d sworn I never would—I kept my distance. Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t trust myself to stop.
Because it was wrong oneverylevel.
He was my best friend. And somewhere out there, we both had fated mates.
Our witches were waiting—maybe already tonight—lighting candles, readying their cauldrons, unaware that they were poised to change everything for us.
We were never meant to build a life together.
And I certainly wasn’t meant to be so madly in love with my best friend that it physically hurt.
I had spent years burying it. Shoving the feeling down every time he laughed, every time he touched me, every time we fed and he was so lost to pleasure he didn’t realize it washimI was watching, not the mortal between us.
I could handle it, I’d told myself. Even though it was wrong.Iwas wrong. Something in my brain had confused friendship with love. And it wasn’t as if Blaise, who had let me share this life with him, had ever indicated that he was even remotely interested in me in that way.
But thenthatnight happened.
The night where Blaise was almost taken from me.
Something primal had reared its head and demanded that Iprotect, destroy, avenge.
And when he’d summoned his shadows and taken me home, a part of me still couldn’t believe he was okay. I couldn’t tell if it was real, or if I was so lost in bloodlust and grief that my mindwas conjuring the image of the torn flesh at his throat healing before my eyes. Not until he dragged his shirt over his head, buttons scattering across the floor, and scrubbed the blood from his skin.
I reached for him without thinking, needing that final proof he was still here.
But touch alone wasn’t enough, and where my fingers had traced, my mouth had followed. And just like that, every rule I’d put in place to protect my heart melted away under the feel of his skin against my mouth.
It was just a kiss, I told myself.Not even on the lips.
I told myself that I could have stopped then. I’d pulled back, searching his face for something I couldn’t name—permission, maybe. Or an order to stop. For him to pull away, make one of his stupid jokes and shrug it off.
But then Blaise leaned down, pressed his lips against mine, and instinct took over.
He whispered my name like it belonged to him. He clung to me, his breath hitching, a soft, needy sound slipping from him as I guided him back against the couch. And when his fingers fumbled at my clothes, instinct drowned out every warning I’d ever given myself.
I told myself it was fine. That for Blaise, it was just another fuck. That it wouldn’t mean to him what it meant to me.
So I let myself have it. Just once.
I slowed it down. Drew it out. Memorized him in ways I’d only ever allowed myself in dreams. I gave him everything I’d wanted to give him for years, until he was boneless beneath me. Until the world narrowed to just me, him, and his ragged breath.
And when I finally lost myself enough to whisper “Mine” against the back of his neck, I told myself it didn’t matter.
He wouldn’t remember it the way I would.
