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His face comes close, his nose brushing mine. “Vesper,” he whispers again. It’s a plea. And a promise. To catch me if I fall.

I close my eyes. The draw toward my bloodmate, toward the monster within me, is unbearable. Like sitting in water that’s slowly heated to boil. I want to crawl out of my skin.

Lonan’s lips connect with mine. Soft, pleading, and desperate. The last-resort effort. A stronger voice, bolder than any bond, surfaces through murky waters.

The stars incline us. They don’t bind us.

Lonan holds me there, pressing his lips to mine, neither of us daring to move.

Galvin’s footsteps fade, and with them the draw of the bond on my heart slackens. I am cocooned safely in Lonan’s shadows. I pull back, studying his face.

There is a moment, one in which I could turn back, chalk this up to an act of necessity when I turned to the one thing that brought me back to reality, to myself. I could look away.

I don’t.

I’m not sure which of us moves first, which of us leans forward. I’m sure we’ll argue about it later. But in the next moment, my hands are gripped on his shoulders, my lips are on his, and I think of nothing else. Nothing else matters. Because Lonan is here, and I’m kissing him, and we’re all that exists in the universe.

Kissing him was rational, a distraction to keep me from giving in to the bond. But now it has me in its grip, and I can’t let go, and I can’t stop.

One of his hands is in my hair. The other arm winds around my waist, the hilt of his sword still clasped in his fist as he pulls my body flush with his. Neither of us is willing to abandon our weapons, even now. This is a stolen moment, away from the night, away from the Dark and the terror all around us.

This is defiance.

This is revolt.

His tongue glides against my lips, and I let my hands trail over him—his arms, his shoulders, the still-bare skin of his chest where the tendrils of the Dark birthmark branch. I feel his skin pebble beneath my touch, and he pulls my body into his like it will never be enough, like we are running out of time.

He tastes like the autumn, like the dying of the light, like the eventide and the last dregs of restraint before I’m pulled toward something so indulgent I want it to never end.

But then he pulls back. And I groan—I actually groan—with disappointment. He laughs, and suddenly that sleeplessness is gone from his eyes. He looks as young as he is for once, resting his forehead against mine.

“We’re being hunted,” he whispers.

“I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t.” He smiles against my lips. “So, you do like me.”

“Not particularly.”

He chuckles again. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Is that a joke?”

“No. I could never understand it. Sure, we had our sparring matches—with weapons and words. To me it was all in good fun.”

I scoff, winding my hands around his back now and burying my face in his neck, breathing in his scent. “You were so obnoxious. Always had the teachers eating out of the palm of your hand. My godfather adored you more than he did me, I think. I couldn’t even blame him. I’d watch your magic in class and wonder how it was possible for anyone to be that good. It drove me insane.”

Lonan snorts. “Hardly. You’re the best in our year.”

I kick him. “Let me worship you a little, bastard.”

“I’d rather worship you,” he says with a smirk.

I grin devilishly. “Oh? And how are you going to do that?”

“Well . . . I tend to think a man worships best on his knees.”

The lost prince of Gault, the son of Imaelhain and Castelle, sinks to his knees before me like a knight before his sovereign. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. I’m captivated, barely able to breathe as those shadows in his irises darken to pitch-black night and an absolutely filthy smile curls on his lips. I see plans unfolding in those wicked eyes as he stares up at me through the stray strands of dark hair.