Taran refuses to entertain the possibility of total defeat. It’s nerve-wracking, if I’m honest with myself. Emlyn’s doubts about Taran’s judgment keep creeping up from the darkest corners of my mind.
“Ellie? Did you get that?”
The fire flares with an exceptionally loud crack as I turn my attention back to Taran. He’s been reviewing the plan, but my curse has made it nearly impossible to stay focused on the discussion. It’s as if it and the wedding are intrinsically linked, but all my attempts to figure out why feel like I’m wandering through a heavy haze.
At my confused expression, Taran gives up, announcing we’ll review everything with Reid and Aerona in the morning. Then he disappears into the tent Cadoc offered him for the night.
After a few minutes, I follow.
I poke my head inside the tanned leather tent. Taran sits with one of his bone knives, sharpening it against a stone. A couple candles provide a dim glow, lighting the wool blankets laid out as a makeshift bed.
“Taran?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.
I swallow, considering the best way to show my support. “I’m sorry if I was frustrating you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
I sit next to him, resting my hand on his—the one holding the blade—and he pauses his strokes. “Everything will be alright.”
Taran exhales. “I wish I could believe that. You may be the only one who does. But if it does go well…” He still hasn’t looked at me, but rubs my hand with his thumb.
I cup his cheek in my palm, tilting his face to mine. Sorrow darkens the green in his eyes.
“It will,” I say.
He lifts his hand, running hesitant fingers through my hair. Heat swells at his touch, my heart pounding with every breath between us.
His lips part, a breath away, and the world narrows to that single point of gravity pulling us together. He closes his eyes and tugs me close, pressing against me with a sweet, sealing kiss. Gentle at first, until he catches my lower lip with his teeth. I push into him, his taste stirring a hunger deep within me. But it’s not enough; there’s an emptiness still unsatisfied.
I climb into his lap, gliding my fingers through his soft hair as I kiss him again, breathing in his pine scent. His tongue slips into my mouth, and teasing fingers grip my back, building an ache in my core that yearns for his touch. He slides his hands further down as our kiss deepens, my body burning with desire as they wrap around my backside.
Taran’s hard length presses between my thighs, and a coil of raw anticipation tightens within me. Yearning for him. Ready for him.
But my heart stutters. I pull back, freeing my lips from his.
Something’s… wrong. He’s the first man I’ve kissed, yet I’m eager to give him everything, as if my body knows exactly what to do, despite being in the middle of a busy camp that stinks of sheep. I always envisioned my first time being more romantic.
Do I fear tomorrow that much?
I bury the thought. My core’s throbbing with impatience, my lips hungry for his.
His eyes slip open.
GREEN.
I throw myself off him, my heart slamming against my chest. Taran scrambles up, his feet tangling in the blanket.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “I-I…”
What just happened?
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine,” I say, then push myself up. “It’s… I can do this.”
Taran runs his hand through his hair, shifting it away from his eyes. “No. Not tonight.” He swallows. “Tomorrow—after. If you still want to. But not tonight.”
