Page 57

“You’re really not worried about the mora?” I ask quietly, my throat tight.

He shrugs. “Some people are worth the risk.”

That’s all it takes for me to give in.

As soon as Luka’s lips meet mine, his hand flits up to cup my jaw, tilting my head back as his tongue roves deep. This kiss is nothing like the first—slow, careful. Instead, it’s rough, hungry, charged with all the pent-up yearning we’ve both been holding back. I let out a small moan as my hands fist his shirt, fingers digging into the hard contours of his body.

Without breaking contact, Luka stands, moving closer. Instinctively, I arch against the bar, my legs parting eagerly as he steps between. My head spins at the pressure, the solidness of him hovering over me. His teeth scrape my lips as he moves downward, dragging slow kisses from my jaw to the hollow of my neck. Between each one, his breath ghosts against my skin. “You have . . . no idea . . . how much . . . I’ve wanted to do this.”

Except I do, because I wanted it too, all those days of trying to play it cool, keep my distance. My desire flares white-hot as his mouth finds my collarbone. I snarl my hand through his hair, tugging his lips back up to mine. As he straightens, his arms snake around my waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifts me off the stool, pressing me against a nearby wall. I lower one leg to the ground while he yanks the other taut against him.

Our pace turns frantic—grasping, clutching, biting.

“Luka . . .” I sigh as his mouth finds the curve of my neck again. That’s all I can manage with my mind hazy, body melting. He lets out a murmur of satisfaction as he grips me tighter against him.

And then his hand skids upward. I gasp as his fingers slip beneath my shirt, tracing the edge of my lace bra. As his thumb flits higher, scraping over my nipple through the fabric, a shiver cascades down my body. It’s like I’m floating in his boat again, the sun’s blissful warmth caressing every part of me. I roll against him harder, provoking a low “Fuck” from his throat. At the anguished sound of it, suddenly what we’re doing isn’t enough—I need more.

My hands drop, grasping at the waistband of his jeans. But as I fumble with the button, a loud thud echoes from the door.

Luka jerks back. Panic shoots through me as we both snap our heads toward the entrance.

His mom stands in the doorway, a wooden crate at her feet. She must’ve dropped it in shock a moment before. As her gaze cuts from Luka to me, her expression shifts from surprise—to anger.

“Are you crazy?” she asks, eyes locked on Luka.

Luka scrubs a hand over his face. He tries to speak, but she cuts him off.

“Don’t you know who she is?”

My cheeks burn with shame. “I should go,” I murmur, straightening my shirt and slipping the diary back in my purse.

As I draw closer to his mom, she jabs a finger in my direction. “You. Stay away from my son.”

The force of her words makes me falter—but it’s the fear in her eyes that guts me. The way she looks at me like I’m something dangerous.

And can I blame her? I know all too well what it’s like to lose someone you love.

Luka tries to calm her, but I can barely register what he’s saying over the ringing in my ears. It’s just like my nightmares again, the town shunning me. Except this time, it’s ten times worse because it’s real.

“Petra.” Luka’s voice floats toward me, strained.

Trembling all over, I dash through the door.

I run and run, not stopping until I reach the hulking structure of Lavender House. Out of breath and shaky with adrenaline, I keel over at the gate, gasping for air.

When I finally straighten, the house looms over me. Against the night sky, it somehow looks even more imposing and regal than before. Powerful.

It must be the harsh sting of Luka’s mom still cutting into me, but as I continue to peer at the structure, it seems to swell, huffing in anger. As if demanding, Who did this to you?

I remain silent, letting the pain in my eyes speak for me. The scent of lavender drifts by, curling around me like a cocoon. I inhale it deeply, grasping for some sense of calm. Slowly, my tension eases, transforming into determination.

I need to finish the diary. Find out what happens—only then can I figure out how to put an end to the mora. Prove to the island that I’m not someone dangerous.

With clenched fists, I march into the house, up to my room. My heart thrums as I find the diary entry where I left off.

The night before the exorcism.

Please, Majko, pray for me. Let this all go well.