Chapter 25
The violent, earth-shattering release had left Lucian utterly breathless, his body slick with sweat and his mind reeling.
He was still pressed against Goldie, the rough wood of the crates digging into his forearms, his chest heaving with the force of his own ragged breathing.
His shock was absolute. He hadn’t expected the reckless hunger, the feral command in her eyes, or the sheer, blinding intensity of their union.
He had walked over to apologize, to plead, and instead, he was lost in her.
He pressed his face into the warm curve of her neck, a soft sigh escaping him as her frantic pulse gradually smoothed into a comforting rhythm.
The air, thick with the sweet scent of her skin, filled his lungs.
A tender kiss followed, gracing the delicate skin at the nape of her neck.
His mind spun like a dizzying kaleidoscope at the implications of their rendezvous.
The sweet whisper of warmth radiating from her body made him smile.
He tried not to overthink how he had her back in his arms, the soft curve of her back a familiar, comforting presence against his chest. Yesterday, the thought would have ignited a hot flash of anger within him if he had known they would end up together like this.
This morning, the silence had seemed an insurmountable chasm, and the idea of this felt utterly impossible.
And now, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, he was here, nestled up to her, the world outside fading into a hushed murmur.
His arms were still coiled tightly around her waist, but as his breathing slowed, a primal, protective instinct—his jackal—snapped him back to attention.
The thin canvas walls of the tent were pathetic shields.
He paused, his head cocked, listening as heavy boots crunched past the flap, followed by the low, muffled voices of two festival volunteers.
Panic, sharp and cold, cut through the hazy afterglow.
He knew, with terrifying certainty, that at any moment, someone could pull back the flap and catch them, exposed and entangled.
“We should—" he murmured.
“Shut up,” she growled, grabbing his hand and kissing it.
Lucian didn’t waste a second longer, knowing they needed to get dressed before getting caught.
He pulled his length from her; the friction pulled a sharp gasp from Goldie, and spun her around, pressing her against the crates.
He gathered their scattered clothes with frantic, efficient movements, his own heart hammering against his ribs.
His eyes shot to her and did a lazy survey of her naked body, from her feet where her pants were bunched to the sly smile on her face.
The world tilted with the raw realization that he was deeply, insanely, unequivocally still hers, a fact that had been confirmed by a physical act so desperate and real it shattered every remaining piece of Ellie’s decade-long lie.
His fingers, surprisingly soft, deftly worked the denim; the fabric whispering as it slid up her legs. The soft rustle of fabric filled the space as she slipped her sweater on.
“Shh, slow down, Jackal,” Goldie giggled, the sound bright and airy, far too loud in the silent space. She leaned in, her breath sweet against his ear. “Be quiet, Lucian, they’ll hear us.”
Lucian secured her zipper, pulling his hand away quickly. He grabbed his discarded shirt and jacket from the straw-covered floor. He hadn’t said a single word since she had silenced him, but he just smiled, shaking his head at her.
“I’m not the one making all the noise, Goldie,” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of awe and lingering desire. “You’re the loud one.”
She batted playfully at his shoulder. “Liar. You’re always grumbling and growling and shit.”
He pulled his leather jacket back on. “I’m trying to keep us from being arrested for indecent exposure.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure you’d be the reason we’d get arrested.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Of course I’m listening,” she said, watching him pull her sweater down over her head.
“Did you know Nibbles has a strong opinion on the pumpkin carving competition? He thinks the gargoyle entry is cheating because it clearly uses illusion magic.” She rambled on, a torrent of happy chatter.
“Or did you want to talk about the new Lavender Dream Brew recipe? It’s actually just a subtle sleeping spell wrapped in lavender. ”
Lucian watched her: the chaotic energy, the impulsive kiss, the desperate ferocity—it was all too unhinged. A question struck him with the cold clarity of a bucket of ice water. Was she drunk? “Goldie,” he said, his voice firm. “What did you drink tonight?”
She paused, looking at him with wide, vibrant green eyes. “Oh! The Wild Magic Mocha,” she declared, a touch too brightly. “It’s meant to ignite courage and chaos. Just amplifies your own feelings, kinda. Do you think it worked?”
“A little too well,” he muttered. Relief loosened the knot in his chest. It wasn’t whiskey or wine. Just one of Goldie’s own dangerously unpredictable concoctions.
He pushed the flap open just enough to confirm the coast was clear, then grabbed her hand; the contact was immediate and electric.
They slipped out of the storage tent and back into the main thoroughfare of the festival.
The air was cooler now, smelling strongly of wood smoke and crisp autumn air, but the frantic energy of the crowd had significantly thinned out.
"The pumpkin roll is definitely over,” he noted, seeing the scattered crowd. Lucian kept his thumb tracing the soft skin of her wrist. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head vigorously, her golden-green hair shimmering under the ambient light. “Nope.”
“Too bad,” he said. “Because I am.”
He paused at a food stall, the air thick with the sweet, spicy aroma of cinnamon and warm sugar.
He ordered his food and took the bag the cashier handed him.
Reaching into a crinkling paper sack, his fingers brushed against the Maple Cinnamon Twist, its surface glistening with a sticky, amber glaze; it was still warm.
Goldie’s gaze, sharp and bright like a magpie’s, snapped to it. Her small hand, surprisingly strong, clamped around his, a determined tug pulling his arm closer. With a decisive movement, she brought it to her lips, her teeth sinking into the yielding substance with a crunch.
Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not.”
Before he could take a bite, she took the bag out of his hand.
He blinked. “Did you just steal my Maple Cinnamon Twist?”
She smiled sweetly as she chewed. “It tasted lonely.”
“You little thief.”
She smiled innocently while chewing. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You are impossible.”
“Is that a problem?”
He shook his head as he looked down at her; the smile softening the hard line of his jaw.
He looked around. “They are closing the place down.”
“I guess it’s time to leave.”
“In that case, I guess I should take you home then.”
Goldie laughed, a bright, melodic sound. “I drove myself, Jackal, and I assume you also drove.” She tilted her head, her green eyes sparkling. “That might be a little hard.”
“We can pick your car up in the morning,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek.
She shook her head again, giggling. “I need my car in the morning. How else will I get Nibbles his lavender scone without causing a scene?”
The festivities were visibly winding down, the last of the food vendors closing up their tents. Recognizing the finality of her words, he walked her toward the parking lot where her car was.
They reached her car, and he didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
Lucian pinned her against the cool metal, his scent mixing with the spiced honey of her own skin.
He leaned down, pressing his mouth against hers, giving her one last, slow, lingering kiss that tasted like a promise he wouldn’t break this time.
He pulled back, opened the driver’s side door, and watched as she climbed into the car.
Lucian stood there for a moment, absorbing the simple, intoxicating reality of her. He finally turned and headed toward his own battered truck, a genuine, undeniable smile spread across his face.