Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
And the more he just feels, the more I do too; his sweaty skin rubbing over mine, the obscene squelching between us, the broken groans, and my delirious whispers mad with wants. Wants that make him spiral and move harder, wants that threaten to split me in half. I clench around him, eager for it. Let him own me.
Let me own him.
I fist his hair, pulling him in to devour my lips too, because I can’t get enough. I refuse.
He holds me harder and with each plunge the cloud beneath us drops, an exhilarating thrill along with Quin’s feelings mirrored inside my veins—and then there are my own. The thickness, the fullness . . . and the pain from before has shifted.
I throw my head back into the silky cloud, baring my throat. Don’t hold back. You never have to hold back with me.
And he doesn’t.
The cloud drops and catches, drops and catches, drops and catches. His cloak rises off us and settles again each time. The stars blaze and then disappear as we sink into mist, and the wet touch of air over my skin, along with Quin’s sudden swelling and pulsing, has me yelling his name as I combust.
Quin sags against me, uneven breaths mingling with mine. We share a tender laugh of relief, and his fingers soften around me, cradling me closer. I feel the pound of his heart, and the matching pound of my own.
I curl against him, tucking my head under his chin, where the flutette catches my long, satisfied sigh into a whistle.
Quin murmurs into my hair; a spell cleans us up and, as the cloud slowly drops back to reality, another redresses us. I remain in his arms, and he remains in mine. The descent is slow. A drift. A glide. A return. But with every inch we fall, the weight returns. The kingdom beckons. The people cry. The crown tightens its grip.
I feel it happen. I feel the shift in his body the moment we inhale the smoke, the slow reclaiming of duty. His shoulders tensing. The exhale that is not release, but resignation.
I swallow thickly. “Do you regret—”
Quin’s head snaps toward me, his eyes dark with unrelenting possessiveness and the answer he will not allow to be questioned. He snatches my lips with a snarl and curves a protective arm around me. “Never.”
He steers the cloud and us to the square, above his academy. Before he lowers us to the ground I pluck his spilled fastenings, drop them into my healing pouch, and plait his hair into one fat braid. He raises a brow and I glare. “No one else is allowed to see you undone.”
He leans forward, eyes flashing. “Close, but still not the words I’m waiting for.”
“Those words—I would have said them already.”
“Not on the brink of death!”
I’m healthy now. I’m allowed to say them. But I’m feeling all of a sudden rather stubborn, and I fold my arms. “Not before you face your uncle!”
His eyes glower, but with a warring twinkle at the edges. “A taste of my own medicine?”
“Approved by your healer.”
Quin barks a laugh and the cloud rapidly descends, coming to a swift halt three feet off the ground. Quin reaches for his cane—
I scoop it away, shuffling off the cloud, to lean heavily against it. “You’ve still got enough magic.”
He stares at me and I snap towards him and lower my voice. “It’s this or carry me, Quintus. My legs? Utterly useless.”
We sleep in Quin’s chamber—Quin on his back, royally prone in bed, or stiff like he’s practicing for burial. I lean over him, peering at his perfectly aligned lashes, and trace a finger over the form of his nose without quite touching. I smirk, and—
“Get to sleep, Cael. Or I’ll send you to the floor.”
I laugh and curl against his side. I fall into a sleep so deep that I don’t notice when he leaves at dawn.
I find out when I wake to cool sheets and his message that he must meditate. He needs spiritual power to defend against any attack that might be launched against the sick—or the healthy receiving forbidden treatment. He orders me to eat properly and continue my work. He’ll meet me at the Amuletos manor.
I’m on my way, just stepping onto the cobbled street, when an aklo carrying a basket sinks to his knees before me. “Caelus Amuletos?”
The basket moves. In it is a white cat. I’ve seen the cat countless times, I’m familiar with every knobble of her spine and the scratchiness of her meow. I’ve felt the softness of her fur keeping me company during the endless nights I studied at Pavilion Library. I snap my head up. “Skriniaris Evander! What’s happened?”
The aklo wheezes as he rises to his feet. He’s sick.
Does that mean Evander is too?
Or is he . . . could he be . . . No. “Tell me!”