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And yet staying here, grappling with the curse, seems just as daunting. Haunted by nostalgia or the mora, but haunted either way.

Luka has a point. Instead of worrying about the future, I should savor what we have now.

And if this is all I’ll get to keep, then I want to sear it into my memory.

Heat flares up my core as the decision locks into place. I shift toward him, raising one leg and straddling his lap. His throat bobs as his chin lifts.

“You’re right,” I say, tracing the cool metallic chain circling his neck. “Let’s just focus on tonight.”

I watch as his expression shifts—pupils dilating, chest rising. Carefully, he lifts a hand, grazing his fingertips lightly up my calf, my thigh, with a torturous slowness, like he’s mapping every inch. Shivers ripple over me in the wake of his touch. When he reaches the curve of my hips, his grip tightens, anchoring me to him.

We remain still, locked together, while the sea rocks beneath us. It feels like hovering at the edge of a precipice with bated breath, waiting for the inevitable fall.

When I can’t take it any longer, I plunge toward him.

He’s ready, capturing my lips in a deep kiss, like he’s been preparing for this moment all night. I twine my fingers through his hair, inhaling his salty musk, committing it to memory. As his hand skims higher, brushing the hem of my nightgown, I sink into him harder and he emits a low groan of satisfaction.

Our restraint dissolves. It’s like we’re back in the restaurant, picking up where we left off. He tears his jacket from my shoulders, his lips scorching kisses down my neck and collarbone. I seize his shirt, tugging it over his head. We crash together again, hungry.

As my hands rove over the broad planes of his chest, he hooks a finger beneath a strap of my gown. I tense.

“Can I?” he asks, voice ragged.

I swallow hard against the swell of desire lodging in my throat. Slowly, I nod.

Cool air ghosts over my skin as the fabric slips away. His eyes turn molten as he takes me in, then lift to my face. “Petra,” he whispers. It comes out anguished, caught somewhere between curse and oath.

Then his mouth is on me, and I’m unraveling, pleasure crashing over me in waves as I grind against him harder and harder. When I reach for his waistband, he tightens his grip on my hips and lifts me up. I slide down his body, letting him pull me toward a narrow doorway, our lips colliding with each step.

We enter a small room. “There’s a bed?” I gasp. A skylight yawns above it, spilling starlight across its covers.

He smirks. “Of course, where do you think I sleep?”

I have no answer. All my thoughts melt away as a heaviness settles in my core. “Do you sleep here often?”

He gives a faint shrug. “When I want to get away.”

A charged silence stretches between us as I glance back to him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, low, careful.

As I consider his question, the boat sways, and I let myself fall into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. From there, I take him in: the glint of the iron medallion on his bare chest, the sinewed strength of his arms, the way the moonlight paints him in shades of silver and blue. Transforming him into something otherworldly—something sent to destroy me.

I’ve never felt this vulnerable, the deepest parts of me cut open. He’s seen more of me than anyone else has before. He could hurt me. Haunt me. The thought should terrify me.

But it doesn’t. I remind myself to focus on the present. Here and now. The gentle lull of the sea. Salt in the air. This too-big emotion climbing up my throat, so lush and filling it feels intoxicating and devastating at the same time. Maybe it is love, or something like it, but I won’t speak it aloud. I’ll only bottle it up, along with every other memory of us, my secret summer burning inside me. When I open it, it will smell of him, tonight, this moment. That’s all there is. All that matters.

With that thought, the last of my fears falls away, sinking into the sea.

“Yes.” It is a whisper, a clip of a passing wave, but he must hear it, or read my lips, because he slowly approaches. As he reaches for my face, his fingers grazing my jaw, I arch my chin up, supplicant, kindling ready to burn at his touch.

What follows is a fever dream; him kissing me slow and deep, easing me back onto the bed. His hands slipping beneath my nightgown, shivers rippling across my skin. Fabric tugging, teeth clacking, us moving frantically until there is nothing between. When he finally presses into me, my mind goes blank, lost in a haze of desire.

It doesn’t take long for me to shatter, his name gasping from my lips. He finishes a moment later, his body collapsing over mine. The solid weight of him is so satisfying I wish I could melt into the bed.

A deep sense of contentment settles over me as we lie there, our ragged breaths panting in time. The stars winking languorously overhead. I nestle against his chest and his arms draw me in, safe and comforting. Drowsiness laps at the edges of my mind, and I let myself drift to the hum of the sea, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

I sleep so deeply I don’t even dream.