“And if she’s not?”
“She will be. She’s always been strong.” He said the words as if he had said them often to himself until they were worn smooth with use.
“He has been grieving her for years, Fear. And now I am a part of your deceit.”
“Yes. You are. You wanted to know all my secrets.” The lamplight moved across his face. Slowly, as if it hurt, he said, “You think I’m like Corbyn.”
Quickly, because it should hurt, “I know you are like Corbyn. You’re a controlling bastard.”
His jaw was tight. He was once again choosing not to answer an accusation or an insult from me.
“I believe she deserves to be whole when he finds her. Because he deserves that too. Tell me that is only control.”
His gaze met mine, full of challenge.
I wanted to still be furious at him. But I pictured Ander, flying here full of hope, only to find himself face-to-face with one of those dark-shrouded, cold Nightwalkers.
“Fine. We have to use the knife in the morning anyway. We can’t leave Tay and the Nightwalkers enchanted. Then we contact Ander.”
If we were not shielded by Corbyn’s magic, we could not have waited, no matter how exhausted we were. But I was not eager to cut into anyone with shaking hands and bleary eyes.
“He’s going to be furious with you,” I said.
“He generally is.”
“Do you think he will despise you less when he has Tesa back?”
“I don’t care.”
“I thought you were going to stop lying to me, Fear.”
His gaze narrowed on me. I thought he might repay me some ugly truth in exchange, but instead, he reached for me.
I let him.
Not because it was safe. Nothing about Fear was safe. Even if he had loved me once and even if he might love me once againsomeday—I did not let myself dwell on this possibility—and if I might love him…. That would not make me safe with him.
Corbyn had loved my mother, and he had still sacrificed her. He had planted the seed of the half-mortal that the kingdom needed and then taken her memories and sent her into hiding.
He had believed she would be the kingdom’s hero in her own way. And so she had carried me into a strange village, not even knowing herself anymore, and brought a child into the world thinking the father was a monster. Thinking that he was the one from which she ran.
Fear’s hands were careful. He touched me slowly, giving me time to stop him, which was its own infuriating quality: the way he never took anything without leaving the door open for me to close it. He made me admit I wanted him.
Anger and desire could share a bed, it seemed. Just as Fear and I must.
I kissed him, a kiss that had teeth in it, all the anger finding somewhere to go.
He walked me backward until the tent post stopped us again, his body warm and solid against mine, his mouth at my jaw, my throat. My fingers found the laces at his collar without deciding to. I tugged at the hem of his shirt as if it had offended me.
“Cara.”
My name, rough, not controlled, as I began to pull the shirt over his head. He let me strip it off him, revealing the width of his shoulders, the lean taper of his waist. It was clear he was not mortal, not with those muscles, with his impossible perfection. Not with his beauty, which was unfair and relentless and which I could not make myself ignore.
I kissed him again, slower, and his hands moved down my back. His thumb found the hem of my shirt. The warmth of his hand against my skin was a shock even though it shouldn’t have been, the warmth of his palm flat against my ribs.
Against his mouth, I said, “Still angry.”
“And I, your potential murder victim, remain peeved as well.” The words were pat and cool. “Are we going to stop?”
