TWENTY-EIGHT #5
A snarl rips from his chest as he sheathes himself fully.
He grasps my hips, pumping inside me until I’m panting.
I cling to him, eyes closed, dazed as Bishop unleashes his primal side.
The pool swells violently around us, water rippling and spilling over its tiled lip—sweeping away the last of my own restraint with it.
“More,” I demand. And I mean it.
More of him. More of the way he’s undoing me one stroke at a time.
I can’t remember why I’ve spent so long denying this. He’s past every wall I’ve built now. There’s nothing left to guard.
Bishop plunges inside me tirelessly, over and over, each stroke harder and deeper than the last, drawing more moans from my lips.
My eyes flutter open, breath stalling when I find him staring back, his blue eyes wild and that iron control utterly obliterated.
His cock drives into me relentlessly, determination clenching his jaw tighter with every stroke as if he can’t rest until he urges every last mewl of pleasure from my lips.
For a few stolen heartbeats, there is no future and no past. Just heat and breath and release.
“That’s it. Come for me,” he grunts, urging me to the edge. I go over it willingly, shattering in his arms.
Falling apart in a way I only can with him.
Bishop captures my mouth like he needs to taste my climax, like he can’t bear to accept anything less than claiming every part of me.
He coaxes me through it, his own body tensing as I clamp around his cock.
He drives deeper, harder until he groans into my mouth and buries himself to the hilt and spills inside me.
And when our breath settles at last, he presses a final kiss to my lips. “I’ve got you.” It sounds different this time, and my heart stutters. “I always will.”
His certainty finds places I haven’t fortified yet, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of everything I’ll never forgive myself for. Blood in the dirt and last breaths and the quiet, terrible knowledge that my survival always comes with a cost.
I pull away slightly, just enough for the cold to creep in around the edges of the bath’s heat. Just enough for me to see the lines of the raven-mark on my chest—the reminder of what I truly am.
Bishop is looking at me like I’m a beginning.
Why can’t he see what everyone else does?
I’m an ending.
With the Stars watching us, I can’t hide from that. Even in his arms.
Especially in his arms.
Because if war comes …
Fear grips my chest like a vise, painful enough that I can’t breathe, as if my body is already counting the cost.
He goes still, concern flickering across his face and whatever he sees on mine.
“Arden.” My name is a prayer on his lips.
One I can’t answer.
“I’m … I’m …” It isn’t him. I want to tell him that. I need to tell him that. But I can’t find the right words. Not after this. Not after I told him I was sure.
“Stay with me.” The words strain from him, something running through them. Something that hurts. That wants to fix this. That wants to hold me here with him.
Part of me wants him to reach for me, but he stays exactly where he is, giving me the choice.
That’s what undoes me.
I unhook my arms from his neck, pressing a palm against his chest. For a heartbeat, he holds fast, his grip flexing like he might refuse. Then his arms give, easing me into the water until my feet touch the bottom.
He understands the wordless request. Of course he does.
His hands stay at my hips even after I’m steady, only slipping free when I step away.
Panic weaves through my chest as I move toward the pool stairs.
I choke back a sob as my feet hit the bottom step, and I climb out quickly, water streaming from my skin, my hands fumbling as I grab one of the towels.
“Stay,” he says, his command stripped down to something raw that slices through me.
But I don’t turn around.
If I do, I won’t leave. I know that with a certainty that terrifies me. I wrap the towel tight around myself and move on instinct, on survival, on the need to put distance between me and the version of myself that wants to stay.
I close my eyes, trying to break this connection between us. This thread we’ve both felt since that first night. The one that I’m suddenly sure will destroy him. If I don’t move now—if I don’t pull away—I never will.
This thing between us started with blood. It will end that way, too.
When my magic awakens, he’ll see that.
“I’m sorry.” I can’t bring myself to look at him.
I make it to the door when he calls one more time: “Arden.”
But he still doesn’t tell me to stop.
I throw on my clothes, not bothering with laces and ties, afraid that I’ll turn around and find him there.
But he doesn’t follow me.
I burst into the night, legs burning as I run the dark path back to Miradores. I don’t stop moving until I reach the graveyard on the outskirts of the house, collapsing where the soil hasn’t settled yet.
Where I can’t pretend that I’ll ever be anything other than a harbinger. And there, I make a promise to someone I failed to save.
A promise that I’ll protect the one person I can.