He gripped her by her shaking shoulders and glared down at her. “Eighty-nine days?!” he repeated as she laughed. Diabolical.
“Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
There was no point in arguing, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.
“No.”
“You don’t think that making you wait for the same length of time you held me hostage in a cave and allowed a sadist to torture me is sufficient? You’re probably right ...”
His heart leapt, and the hope must have shown on his face, because she laughed.
“You actually are a witch. I loathe you.”
She laughed again as he grabbed her and sat her on his lap.
“You don’t loathe me.”
He leaned into her caress as she stroked his face, enjoying the feel of her hands in his beard. It was the longest he’d gone without in a while, thanks to his travels.
Bracing his forehead on her arm, he mumbled, “I hate it when you’re right. You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Her smugness filtered through their bond.
“I am.” She placed her hands on the sides of his face, the humour receding from her eyes. “And as much fun as it is going to be to torture you, I want to keep you safe for as long as I possibly can.”
His throat constricted with emotion so heavy he couldn’t speak.
Even though he was holding her in his arms and she wasn’t marrying Steffen, she still hadn’t said the words he desperately needed to hear.Does this mean you accept our bond?
Her gaze was piercing.As soon as I figured it out, there was no going back for me.
Do you ... Are you ...Insecurity flooded him, the tips of his ears heating. He couldn’t look at her.
“West.” She tugged on his face, but he closed his eyes, needing to brace for whatever she was about to say. She may want him, want his body, and they had this connection. But that didn’t mean she wantedhim. Not in the way he loved her.
“Westley Ulvar Erikson.” At the sound of his full name—he hadn’t realized she knew it—on her lips, he looked up. Her eyes were glassy. It was instinct to swipe away the escaped tear with his thumb.
“You were mine long before we ever chose each other. And I do. I choose you. Even without the bond.” He’d never heard her speak so gently. His eyes stung, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t hold the tears back. She kissed them away.
And for once, the bond didn’t present as something outside of themselves, as the thing that pulled them together. No, he felt her—her heart, her soul. He was hers as much as she was his.
“If you choose me, why must you have revenge?” He was only partly teasing, but that small seed of doubt still lingered.
She surprised him by placing a kiss on his lips, one that started gentle but turned hard and fierce as passion took over.
“I’m scared,” she admitted when they resurfaced.
“Of what?”
“The prophecy . . .”
“The prophecy could change.”
“Here’s the thing,” she said, forcing him to tear his gaze away from her gloriously irresistible body. He sat up as her swell of emotion rocked into him. “I will not allow my heart’s promise to die.”
Westley slid his hands to either side of her face and into the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her close.
“I am not going to die,” he swore.
“You can’t promise that,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his.
