“I’m no one.”
Incredulity puckered the skin between her brows. “If I had any doubt, do you think I wouldn’t be screaming it for everyone to hear? No one stands to gain more from that than me, Sean, but I’m standing here, at your mercy, telling you you’re the only thing that matters.”
The only thing that matters.
“Why do they call me Savior, Isobel?”
Her shoulders fell. “There was…a prediction. We call it a Sending. Shortly after Lhynion died, an oracle predicted Galadaine and his ideals would infect us all. She said only Lhynion’s heir would free us.”
Sean took a deep, cleansing breath. “Galadaine is dead.”
“I know.” She nodded. “The Sending makes no sense, but for centuries people have interpreted it as Galadaine’s heir following in his footsteps, and you will stop it.”
“I—what?”
“You can’t tell David, Sean. If he knows what’s predicted…it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. We don’t know it’s him. The Sending talks about retributive lifeblood and immeasurable sacrifice and only one path to liberty, but it never calls us out by name. The Seelie Court will watch you both, waiting to see how it plays out, and neither of you will be allowed to stray.”
Two heartbeats pounded in Sean’s ears before he lost it. “What the fuck, Bel? You didn’t think this was something we’d want to know?”
“It’s been two days! You showed up in Viterra afteryearsof me imagining you, and the magic went berserk inside me. To be frank, I haven’t been focused on this prophecy I’ve known about since I was a toddler.”
Sean blinked.
Her voice shrank. “It’s hard to remember how much you don’t know.”
He nearly laughed. “This is what you’re supposed to protect me from, isn’t it? Some prophecy says I’ll save the world, and you keep me safe while doing it?”
Eyes squeezed shut, Bel’s head dropped. Eventually, she nodded.
“This is”—Sean scrubbed his face—“so stupid.”
She remained silent, her body stiff.
“Look at me,” he said.
Slowly, her eyes lifted. She stood close enough in the dim cave that he could count her eyelashes. The vial that represented his life rested near a pulse pounding in her throat.
Something inside her called to him, like a piece of him she’d kept hidden but now wanted to return. A missing limb.
“You will not die for me,” he said. “I am no one, and I’m not worth that sacrifice. Do you understand?”
Her eyes dilated, and she whispered his name, almost pityingly. Everything about her loosened as she stared into his eyes. An overwhelming desire blossomed, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. She extracted it from deep, unwilling places. Heedless of the potential pain, Sean dipped his head and kissed her. The power in her rose, only this time he was having none of it. He shoved that magic away.
Heat exploded in his chest and sank down, waking needs he’d never before experienced, wants that had been buried deep in primal parts of his soul. Skin that went electric. Kisses that caught on fire. Acts at once divine and unholy.
It should have been more awkward. Slower, even. This was the first time he’d ever looked at another person and thought,I want to be inside you. There should have been uncertainty. Shock. Hesitation.
Instead, he was engulfed in flames and the unquestionable certainty that Isobel Faywood was the right person. Theonlyperson. She was the oxygen he breathed, and he was suffocating.
Her back hit the rock wall behind her as he pushed closer. Everysoft curve shaped itself to his body. He kissed her harder, wilder, wishing it could wring out the frustration and fear and confusion from his brain. He considered pulling back, modulating the frenzy, but she grappled onto him, tight and painful.
Maybethiswas where he belonged. With her. Right there in her arms.
Sean kissed her neck while memories unfurled in his mind, delicate flowers ripe for picking. He already knew what she liked. His hands moved to the straps of her dress, sliding them off her shoulders with brutal slowness. Isobel’s breath came faster, and his mouth followed the neckline of her gown as he pulled it lower and lower.
The fabric lost its fight with gravity and fell to the ground. He wanted to drop to his knees, to wrap her legs around his neck. He wanted to taste how much she wanted this, but she pulled him back for a deep kiss.
Hands tugged at his shirt, tearing it over his head, and then they were pressed chest to chest, hard to soft. Exquisite heat and excruciating friction.
