Wilder Hawthorne
A lthea Zoltaire had stolen all the air from his lungs and lit him ablaze. Wilder couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of anything other than her; her body against his, her heated skin beneath his touch.
Gods, there had been far too many clothes. How he’d longed to peel away those layers of fabric, to put his hands – his mouth to those curves, to touch and taste every glorious inch of her.
Even now, hours later, he was in knots, unable to stand the feverish feeling of his own skin without her on him. The moment he’d kissed her, the rest of the world had fallen away – there was only her, only Thea.
He had denied it for months, how much he wanted her, how thoughts of her consumed him.
And now… Fuck, what now? Now his heart pounded at the mere memory of her; her soft mouth, her hands at his belt, her waist and hips and the heave of her breasts against him.
At his name on her lips, gasping and wanting.
Desire made his cock throb, and he swore quietly, pacing his now empty cabin, wishing she were back here, wishing they could finish what they’d started.
He’d waited for the chance to talk to her, to explain that were it not for the others’ arrival, a mountain drake couldn’t have stopped him taking her against that porch wall…
But she’d gone, without saying goodbye, leaving him to help Farissa tend to the two shieldbearers and send them back to the fortress. He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d fucked it up twice before.
Alone once more, he stewed in his thoughts, trying to focus on something other than the need for her, which only seemed to intensify.
Instead, he forced himself to think back to what he’d witnessed on the clifftops. That brilliant bolt of lightning carving through the night’s sky had hit Thea… Or nearly hit her…?
She had denied having magic, but he’d seen it. Or was he simply so exhausted from the battle at the Ruins of Delmira and rescuing the shieldbearers that he’d conjured up some falsity? It wasn’t unheard of.
He’d been so sure just before their kiss, but now…
Fuck, I’m a wreck, he thought, still pacing the living room of his cabin, the fire burning low.
For the first time in a long while, he longed for Talemir Starling’s counsel.
His mentor had faced such perils himself.
But even were Talemir here, Wilder wasn’t sure he would be ready to confide in him, not about Thea.
There were still too many pieces of the puzzle missing.
But the things that had occurred with the reapers and on the cliffs made one thing clear: there was something special about Althea Zoltaire, something powerful, even if she wouldn’t admit it herself.
Darkness in its many forms was looming.
Wilder ran his fingers through his hair with a quiet curse.
The beautiful alchemist would be his beginning – and his end.