Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
With a moan, I jerk to a sitting position, the room dimly lit, only to find Micah still sound asleep on his back, his arm over his head again, which must somehow help the pain in his side. Holy wow, I’m breathless. I have never in my life had such a vivid dream. It was so insanely real that I’m wet and my nipples are tight little achy balls. I lean over to run my hand over Micah’s face. “What are you doing to me?” I whisper, and as I stare down at him, tenderness fills me. I think I might love him, and I tell myself that’s not an emotion the person who chooses to end the world would experience. Wouldn’t I already be cold inside? Wouldn’t I already have formed a darkness in me if that’s where my journey ends?
With a shift of my body, I sink down low against Micah’s side, my hand resting on his belly, his skin almost too warm beneath my palm. I think it’s part of his healing process, remotely remembering the heat when I was going through this, like a burn from within. I burn from within for this man, but for now, I settle for just holding him, and I drift back into slumber.
The next time I wake, it’s with a languid stretch, the room still dim but for the candles, only to realize Micah isn’t in bed with me. I jerk to a sitting position and scan the room, but he’s not here. “Micah!” No answer. “Micah?!” I throw away the blanket, and I have no idea where my slippers are.
My hand stretches and reaches, and finally, when I dig under the blanket, I latch onto one and then the other, tossing them to the ground and fitting my feet inside. “Micah?” I rush to the bathroom, afraid he’s fallen or hurt, but he’s not there. With my hands on the edge of the doorframe, my chin tilts low. He left. In the morning light, he clearly didn’t want this thing between us to turn the wrong direction. But memories of us laughing by the tub and him pulling me under the blanket with him have me rejecting that idea. He wouldn’t run from anything, most certainly not me.
Eager to confirm nothing is wrong, I use magic to dress and freshen up before rifting to the main room, where I find Micah and Zeke standing at the kitchen island. My heart flutters wildly at the sight of Micah. He looks good, himself again, his jaw no longer shadowed, his weakness behind him, and I remember our bodies pressed close last night, the things we’d said to each other. He knows the instant I’m present, his gaze lifting and landing on me. “Morning,” he says, and his eyes are warm with welcome.
Zeke rotates his upper body to motion me forward. “I’m about to leave.”
I rift to stand opposite Zeke and to the right of Micah. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t get along well with Lucius, the Overseer of the district the Diviner inhabits,” Micah explains. “Zeke’s going to go ahead of us to the domain and try to navigate a trouble-free visit.”
“Can’t Jeremy track you?”
“I can shield myself,” he assures me. “Bedrocks are the ones easily tracked, and even then, only if the demon gets a scent of them.”
“Our magics have been refined to protect them over the years,” Micah adds, “but for base operations with a large headcount, we’re safer underground.”
“In other words,” Zeke says, “you do not need to boil anyone on my behalf. Not this time, but now that I know you have that skill, I might not want to train with you.”
“That was a rookie mistake.”
“It might not be a bad skill to master,” Micah suggests, motioning for Zeke to get out of here. “Don’t forget to tell Lucius to fuck off.”
“I will not tell Lucius to fuck off,” Zeke replies, and then with a smile, “until you’ve left his territory.”
Micah laughs, and Zeke disappears.
“What’s the deal with Lucius?” I ask, and when I rotate toward him, Micah is already in front of me, his hand settling on my waist, another on the side of my head, his fingers curling into my hair. “Do you really want to talk about Lucius?”
“I just thought—”
“The wrong things. I meant to be back before you got up. I want to be back in bed with you, Ember. I didn’t want to leave.” His voice is warm and raspy. My body is hot, my breasts heavy.
“You sure about that?” I ask because it’s something to say, because—just because.
“Come on, sweetheart.” His voice is low, a warm quality to it that has me swaying his direction. “After that dream you had last night,” he says, “you know I didn’t.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and my lips part, my fingers curling around the cotton of his T-shirt, my gaze rocketing to his. “You—I—oh, God.” But I see it in his eyes. We shared that dream, and I bury my face in his chest.