You, I think.
But it’s not quite as simple as that. I’m not afraid of Fox the way I used to be, when he was nothing more to me than the Earth Cleaver, the most dangerous boy in all the realm. Now I know that boy. I know his secrets, I’ve seen his scars, and in spite of everything I care about him. And admitting that feels an awful lot like handing him the power to hurt me. How could I possibly entrust him with my heartwhen he’s proved himself all too capable of dishonesty and deception?
I gaze out over the ledge at the watercolour sky, the peach-pink clouds, the dragonflies circling the summit of the rocky mountain. All in all, a rather fitting setting, since being with Fox has always felt like balancing on the edge of a cliff. Yet these past few weeks something has shifted, and I can’t seem to work out whether I fell, or if I jumped.
Either way, I’m falling.
‘Blaze,’ he says softly.
I swallow, tilting my chin to look at him, then wish I hadn’t. I might be unwilling to trust him, but there’s no use in denying how devastatingly beautiful he is. So beautiful that sometimes, when he looks at me like that, my traitorous mind wanders to forbidden places.
Slowly, he reaches out a hand, fingers sliding through my damp hair and cupping the nape of my neck. He strokes the pad of his thumb along my jaw and my eyes flutter shut, my lips parting – whether in surprise or invitation, I can’t be sure.
I should fight this, I think, as I lean into his touch.
I should push him away, I think, as I pull him closer.
His other hand finds my waist. I can feel every ridge and groove of his chest, smooth and hard like marble. I’m dizzyingly aware of just how little clothing separates our bodies – my slip is indecently translucent, clinging to every inch of me.
He’d let me go if I told him to. I could leave right now if I wanted. But what would be the point? I might be able to run from him, but not from how I feel.
‘What’ve you done to me?’ Fox murmurs.
I could ask him the same question. My heart writhes the way it does when I’m faced with danger. How foolish must I be to want something that frightens me?
This is a risk.Heis a risk.
His gaze drops to my lips. ‘Scared, Storm Weaver?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper, and kiss him.
This kiss is gentler than the others – tentative and feather-light, sending sparks skittering across my skin.
Of course I’m scared. I’m scared to trust him. I’m scared this is going to end in regret. But most of all I’m scared of how much I want him.
Because I do. I do want him.
I want him so badly I could die.
Suddenly, without warning, the pool begins to churn, the water turning from cool to warm to piping hot.
I gasp and lurch backwards. At once the temperature drops.
Fox is staring at me, his eyes wide with astonishment. ‘Was that … Did you justsimmer?’
I blink, dazed. Of the four water gifts, simmer skimming is the only one I haven’t mastered, since I still haven’t been able to figure out which emotion it’s anchored to.
My mind wanders back to my conversation with River when I asked him what his anchor was for simmering. He said some anchors tend to run in families. And right now, what did Fox just say to me? What did I just admit to feeling?
Scared, Storm Weaver?
Understanding cascades through me. That’s it. That must be my anchor –fear.
Only, it doesn’t quite make sense. I’ve experienced fear plenty of times before now. What was it about this time that …
And then it hits me.
I think about the way Fox makes me feel. The heat that flares in my cheeks, burns at my core, builds to a blazing inferno with every kiss, every touch.
