He steps closer as his voice drops low.
“We’re going to have a race.” My forehead wrinkles and his smile grows wider.
What the fuck?
He says, “We’re going to have a race,” like it’s the most normal thing in the realm.
Like I didn’t just spend two days trying to remember how to breathe.
Like I didn’t—
No.
Don’t think about that.
“Through the woods to the end of the Veilatara meadow. If you win, we come back here and you can lock yourself away again. Enjoy all those cookies by yourself.”
I should’ve known it was a trap.
Creed doesn’t even wake up this early.
A flicker of something rolls across my chest and I battle to shut it down.
Don’t let the knot unravel.
Don’t let them break through.
My soul has been putting me through a war. One I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fight.
I don’t want them to feel me.
And I sure as fuck don’t want to risk feeling their emotions.
He gives methatsmile. The one that means warning, but of what degree, he’s the only one who ever knows.
Gods. Why does he have to smile at me like that?
He steps a little closer, not touching me, not crowding, but close enough that the hum of his power prickles across my skin, raising goose bumps.
No. Not the tingles. Not now.
He holds his hand out, letting my shoes dangle from his fingers.
“What do you say?”
I stare at them, then at him again.
Figure out the trap, Thayla.
“Why are you doing this?”
His smile shifts from mischief to an understanding that crushes me. My chest hurts so bad, it’s breathtaking in the worst possible way.
“Fear is consuming. Once it gets its jaws in you, it’s hard to break out of its hold, but it’s heavy. It weighs thousands of pounds. Rage runs faster than fear, angel.”
It weighs more than that.
It makes every breath feel like you’re trying to suck a smidge of air through a small crack in stone.
