“Good.” His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling in the curls. “Because I need you focused. I need you sharp. I need you to be the witch who stood toe to toe with my father. The one who jumped through a book without hesitation, not the one falling apart because things aren’t going according to plan.”
“Things never go according to plan,” I shot back.
“Exactly.” His forehead pressed against mine, the gesture intimate despite the harshness of his words. “So we adapt. We survive. We do what we always do. We find a way through the impossible and make it look easy.”
“Nothing about this is easy.”
“No.” His thumb traced my lower lip, the touch achingly gentle despite everything else. “But we’re good at hard things, you and I. Good at surviving what should kill us.”
My heart was racing again, but not from panic this time. From proximity. From the way his body pressed against mine, all heat and solid muscle and dangerous intent. From the realization that we were alone, truly alone.
“Wickett—”
His voice dropped lower, rougher, edged with something that made my stomach flip. “Tell me to step back and I will. Tell me this is a terrible idea, and we both walk away and pretend this never happened.”
I should. Should absolutely tell him to stop, to back off, to remember all the reasons this was impossible.
“I can’t,” I whispered instead.
“Can’t what?” His hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back further. “Say it, Syn. Tell me what you can’t do.”
“Can’t tell you to stop. Can’t pretend I don’t feel this. Can’t keep lying to myself that you’re just the enemy I’m forced to work with.”
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating in the pale light. “What am I, then?”
Dangerous question. Impossible to answer honestly without destroying everything.
“You’re the person who makes me braver than I am. You push me past my limits. Make me question everything I thought I knew about right and wrong. You make me see that everyone has something they’re hiding. Something they protect so the world doesn’t know how vulnerable they really are.”
Something shifted in his expression. Softened and hardened at the same time, like I’d said exactly the right thing and theworst possible thing simultaneously. Then his mouth was on mine.
Not gentle. Not tentative. Like he’d been holding back for far too long and finally, finally had permission to take what he wanted. I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of fear and frustration and desperate want into it. His hands were everywhere. In my hair, on my waist, sliding up my ribs like he was trying to memorize me through touch alone.
This melting between us was everything. Passion and release. Hatred of the circumstances that made this impossible and understanding that it was happening anyway. A bridge between what could never be and what could only exist here, in a cave where no one could see, where the rules of the world above didn’t apply, even if I knew what he was really hiding.
He tasted like desperation and dark promises, like every forbidden thing I’d ever wanted but had been too smart to reach for. Wickett’s teeth caught my lower lip, and I gasped against his mouth when that beautiful hint of pain shot lower. He used the opening to deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in my hair to hold me exactly where he wanted me, while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
I made a sound, half gasp, half surrender, and felt him smile against my mouth. His teeth found my lower lip again, dragging across it before he kissed his way along my jaw, down to the pulse point in my throat.
“Wickett—” His name came out ragged.
“Still panicking?” His voice was rough velvet against my neck, doing absolutely nothing to slow my racing heart.
“That’s not—this isn’t?—”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and the heat in his gaze made my knees weak. “You were falling apart. Couldn’t have that.”
“So you kissed me?” My hands were still fisted in his shirt, holding him close despite my attempt at indignation.
“Worked, didn’t it?” That cocky smirk. Dark and dangerous and entirely too pleased with himself.
Fucker.
I shoved him hard. He barely moved, just caught my wrists and held them against his chest.
“You arrogant?—”
“Focused?” He tilted his head, assessing. “Breathing normally? Not trying to claw through solid rock anymore?”
