I pull back to look at him, out of breath and delirious with lust.
“Where should we go?” I have to raise my voice now so he can hear me through the rain and thunder around us.
He briefly looks over to the house, but dismisses the thoughtimmediately. He kisses me quickly and guides me back toward the stable. Once inside, he lifts me effortlessly onto the horse. Climbing up behind me, he wraps his coat around us.
“Hold on tight,” he murmurs into my ear and the horse starts sprinting out of the barn at an alarming speed.
The rain is slashing down hard around us. I bury myself inside of Ashford’s embrace, but not because I fear the downpour. It’s like I can’t stand to be apart from him, now that I have tasted him. My skin is burning, wanting to be pressed against his. My body is attuned to his in a way I have never felt before, as if we are made from one and the same skin.
He lifts his hand from the reins briefly, brushing his dark hair away from his forehead, the water running down his features in rivulets. He looks handsome and dangerous, a man on a mission, determined, and yet, there is a hesitation to him that makes me wonder what internal struggle he is fighting.
A church comes into view in the distance, solitary placed alongside the small river which gives in to the lake at my estate and flows further south after.
At first, I think it is abandoned. So still it stands beneath the dark sky. Then I see the roof, whole, steeply pitched, its wooden beams dark with age, and the narrow tower anchored at one corner. The stone is pale and weather worn, each block uneven, softened by wind and years of rain. Moss creeps along the lower walls, and thin vines cling to the mortar as though trying to claim it back for the forest. The doorway is framed by a pointed arch. The heavy wooden doors are closed.
But it is the window that steals my breath.
Above the entrance, set high into the front wall, a single vast pane of stained-glass catches what little light the storm allows. The image within it is difficult to make out from this distance, but it seems to blaze from within.
Ashford rides sure, his grip on the reins is steady. The road is turning into mud, and it is becoming increasingly difficult for the horse to find its footing. When we reach the church, Ashford drops to the ground and pulls me down to him, straight into his open arms. I smile, rain dripping down my face as I look up at him, but I do not mind. The look on his face is almost reverent, like someone seeing sunlight for the first time in their life.
The moment only lasts a second, because we start running toward the church doors, Ashford pushing them open with a single shove. Inside, the air is still warm, stuffy, but welcoming. We walk further into the church, and I marvel at the patterns the stained-glass window leaves on the floor.
Ashford stops abruptly in front of me, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. The rain clings to my skin, my hair plastered to my face, but I hardly notice. All I see is him—every dark line, every shadow in his eyes.
His chest is rising and falling quickly, the storm outside echoing the turmoil in his eyes. He hesitates, then speaks, voice low and rough:
“You don’t understand…how much this scares me.”
I step closer, wanting to reach for him, wanting to close the space between us—but he doesn’t move forward. He’s a storm held in check, and I can feel it thrumming through him.
“Not what I feel for you,” he adds quickly, almost defensively. “But…the world we are stepping into. There are things you cannot yet see. Things I cannot…reveal.”
I tilt my head, searching his face, trying to understand, but it only makes my heart pound faster. He swallows hard, fingers flexing at his sides, and I see the restraint in him—the kind that makes him dangerous and irresistible all at once.
“And yet…I cannot stay away from you. I can barely keep myself from claiming you right here, right now.”
The words make heat curl in my stomach, and my hands itch to reach for him. I know I shouldn’t—but I want him. Devil’s mercy, I want him.
A shadow crosses his face, fleeting, haunted, and I feel the pull of it, the weight of the secrets he won’t share. “If I tell you everything…if I let you see the truth…you might never forgive me.”
My pulse spikes, and I can’t stop staring at him. Every inch of him makes me ache, makes me want to throw caution to the wind. I can almost taste the danger in his words, and it excites me, terrifies me, and draws me in all at once.
“So I…I need you to trust me. Just…trust me. That is all I can ask.”
I swallow, heart hammering, and I nod, though I feel the fear twist in my stomach. Trust him. I don’t even know him—and yet, every part of me wants to. I want him.
“I…I’m done,” I say, my voice carrying across the empty church. “Done letting things happen to me. Done letting life be chosen for me. I’ve tolerated enough, and I never fought, I never tried to change anything. I allowed it all. But I…I don’t want to anymore.”
His eyes flicker, jaw tight, and I see it—something raw behind the calm, something almost painful. He swallows hard.
“I want to choose,” I continue, stepping closer, daring to look him in the eyes. “I want…my life to be mine. And I want…to choose you.”
The words hang between us. He blinks, startled, and I can feel the weight of the truth in them, the unfamiliarity of my own power in speaking them aloud.
“I—I want to make a deal with you,” I say, and the thunder outside cracks so sharply it makes the floor tremble.
“No,” he whispers, voice tight, almost afraid. “There will be no bargain.”
