Chapter Fifty #2
Gingerly, his lips caress mine. I feel the moment he catches himself, pulling away, but then my hands are at the nape of his neck, and my lips are on his lips, and no one and nothing else exists.
He sighs, laughs, cries, and when I don’t hesitate, when I kiss him with total abandon, we become a tangle of arms and hands, both of us holding on to each other so tightly it’s as if we become one.
He takes a breath only to plead with me not to let go, to please not let go, and I’m saying “Never” with my lips, with my hands on his face, with the way I cannot seem to stop grasping at him.
I tell myself to memorize this feeling—to remember what it feels like to be happy.
Complete. Like I’ve finally found where I belong.
And it isn’t a place. It isn’t a ship. It’s with Titus.
“In case the two of you have forgotten,” Margaret yells over the din of battle, “the rest of us are fighting for our lives!”
Titus doesn’t open his eyes, and I feel his fists tighten around the fabric of my shirt. “Have I mentioned,” he says against my lips, “that I really don’t like your sister.”
As if she heard him from ten feet away, Margaret yells, “The feeling is mutual!”
I open my mouth, but before I can speak, Gabriel shouts a warning, and Titus and I break apart, swallowed up by the crush of battle. With every enemy I cut down, all I can think is that they will not keep me from reaching him again.
When we reunite near the mainmast, Titus wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Well? What did you wish for?”
I cling to his shirt, slick to his skin, as the merciless downpour threatens to sweep us off our feet, the ship rocking in earnest, tossed by the waves. “Love.”
He leans in, his lips hovering over mine, but at the last second, he groans, throwing his hand out in the direction of two Shifters.
The garrote he deploys from his sleeve cuts off an arm, but the Shifter doesn’t stop.
They fling themself at Titus, and I toss Titus one of my cutlasses before launching my own attack on the second Shifter.
“Aster, my love!” Titus shouts over the din of clashing metal. “I love you with every beat of my wicked heart!”
I laugh, my body trembling with joy as I strike and parry. I’m about to finish the Shifter off when they drop to the deck, convulsing, and I look to my right to see Henry, his hand outstretched.
“Go on,” he says, jerking his chin in Titus’s direction. “Have your moment.”
I blow him a kiss. He catches it, winks.
I turn to find Titus surrounded by three Gores. In the smoke, it’s hard to tell how many Underlings are left. I pick my way over the corpses of the fallen, attempting to reach Titus, but I’m caught by another Shifter, then a Gore, until it feels as if I’ll never close the distance between us.
Still, I hear the sound of his heartbeat over the roar of Samael, over the chaos of the battle raging all around us, strong and steady and—
Will appears before me, veiled in shadows, his blade drawn.
He’s come to kill me, I think. Morana has given him the order to kill me, and he cannot refuse her.
I twirl my cutlass, prepared to face him.
I know the moment Titus sees Will take a step toward me, because in the split second that he’s distracted, a Gore slashes his face, spraying the mainmast with blood.
Titus falls to his knees, his blade sliding across the deck and out of reach. A flash of lightning illuminates the Gore’s monstrous claws as it prepares to strike him again.
I lurch forward, my cutlass raised—
But then Will is there, standing over Titus. For an instant, it’s as if I were back on the beach once more, watching as Will towers over Jack, his blood dripping onto the sand. Only, this time, when Will’s blade arcs, a streak of purple, blue, and green light, the Gore’s head rolls across the deck.
One heartbeat. Two.
Will extends his hand to Titus.
“No need to thank me,” Will says, his voice a low rasp, and when he glances at me, his eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Didn’t plan on it,” Titus clips, taking his hand.
Will helps him to his feet.
There’s no time to question Will’s allegiance. The three of us move as one as Will draws a second Elysian blade from a sheath at his hip and tosses one to Titus.
The years Titus and Will spent fighting together on a battlefield are evident in the way they trust each other’s every maneuver, their attacks coordinated as if they had done this a thousand times.
I find myself fitting into their rhythm just as I once did with Owen and my siblings aboard the Lightbringer; I duck as Titus swings his sword over my head, and Will drives his blade into the gut of the Shifter behind me as I whirl, cutting down the Sylk that lurches for us. Lunge. Parry. Feint. Strike.
Titus and Will act as if the past few months never happened, and I think, once or twice, I hear one of them laugh, hear the other shout a warning, a thanks, a compliment.
I remember what Henry said: Just think what we could accomplish with him on our side.