Chapter 27 #2
She remembered the moonflare token still clutched in her palm and held it out, the silver moth catching the light. “If I could wish for anyone,” she said quietly, “I would wish for you.”
For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t speak, and she glanced up just in time to see him swallow before he stepped closer. He reached out and enclosed both her hand and the token within his larger ones. The warmth of him seemed to encompass her entirely, and she found herself swaying toward him.
Then he stopped, shaking his head. “Wait. No. There is something I must say first.”
He released her hand, and every part of her wanted him to take it back. But his expression had changed, his usual confidence seeming to waver, replaced by a raw, unguarded honesty.
“I need to apologize,” he said, taking a steadying breath.
“For not revealing myself sooner. I know how it must have seemed—a deception, a betrayal of the trust you placed in me through our letters. I felt as though it was the only way for you to come to know me, but that does not excuse keeping the full truth from you for so long, letting you think you were corresponding with one person while growing close to another, when all along we were—”
She stood on tiptoe, gripped the front of his jacket with both hands, pulled herself toward him, and pressed her mouth to his.
For a heartbeat, they both froze—he from pure surprise, she from the shocking realization that she hadn’t the faintest idea what came next. But then his arms came around her, drawing her against him, and her uncertainty dissolved into something far more overwhelming.
The moonflare dropped from her clenched hand as her fingers slid upward, threading into his hair, soft and warm beneath her trembling hands.
His palm traced a path down her spine, settling at the small of her back, where it spread and drew her closer still until there was scarcely space for breath between them.
His other hand tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck.
Her lips parted on a trembling breath, and his met them again, surer this time, a rush of warmth and need that made her pulse stumble.
“Stars … L …” The sound of her name, half gasped against her mouth, carried such raw longing that it sent shivers racing through her, heat unfurling beneath her skin.
Her magic broke free in a rush of sound, a thousand threads of melody unfurling at once.
Music tangled over itself in scattered harmonies, swelling and spilling outward until it became everything: air and heartbeat and breath and light as the world tilted and all she could feel was him.
His breath, his touch, his heartbeat thrumming against hers.
The sensation broke over her like a wave, dizzying and all-encompassing, flooding every thought until she was lost in it—overwhelmed, undone, yet utterly unwilling to draw back.
He tightened his grip on the back of her neck, further angling her face upward. His mouth moved against hers with growing certainty, drawing her closer, drawing her under, until the world itself seemed to bend around the space they shared.
And she was drowning. She was flying. She was coming apart at the seams and being remade with every thundering beat of her heart. But she did not let go.
Gradually, the rush softened. The fierce rhythm of the kiss slowed, faltered, until they were simply breathing the same air, mouths barely apart, foreheads almost touching. Her pulse raced wild and uneven as he murmured, breathless against her lips, “Are you still with me?”
She nodded, her nose brushing against his, her hands now fisted in his jacket, as though he were the only thing holding her upright. “I … yes.”
The rush had not fully left her; it surged and receded in turns, a tide of heat and light that threatened to take her under.
But as she breathed him in—his warmth, his steadiness—she felt it settling.
The tide was easing, and though she still felt the pull, it seemed she had not been swept away after all.
“I promised I would not let you drown,” he whispered, knowing where her thoughts lingered.
She nodded again, eyes still closed, and then it turned into a side-to-side motion as she gently dragged her lips back and forth across his, because—stars above—the soft brush of his skin against hers sent the most wonderful tingles throughout her entire body.
“Are you enjoying this?” he asked, and she both heard his smile and felt it against her mouth.
“Yes.” Her laugh was soft and breathy, and this was without a doubt the most intoxicating thing she had ever experienced. Even more entrancing than the driftshade.
He kissed her again, the soft, sweet press of lips on lips.
“L …” he murmured. “L for Lovely …” Another kiss at the corner of her mouth.
“L for Luminous …” The next kiss on the curve of her cheek.
“L for Literally Everything I’ve Ever Wanted.
” His lips brushed over the delicate skin of her closed eyelid as a breath of laughter escaped her.
He drew back slightly. After another few moments, her eyes fluttered open, the world slow to return, only to find his gaze already waiting for her—steady, reverent, as if he’d been memorizing every breath she took.
She lifted one trembling hand and let her thumb trace the curve of his lower lip, soft and warm beneath her touch. The motion drew a faint hitch in his breath, and for a heartbeat she forgot how to breathe at all.
Then she met his eyes again—so close, so impossibly full of everything she felt—and the words slipped out on a whisper, fragile but certain. “I love you.”
He stilled at her words. For a moment, he only looked at her, eyes shining in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. Then, very softly, he said, “I love you, Lady Aurelise Rowanwood, more completely than I ever knew one heart could hold.”
Her lips curved, trembling between laughter and tears. “Now that I’ve been brave enough to say it aloud, writing it in a letter should be easy.” She paused. “That is … if we’ll still be writing letters to one another?”
“Of course.” His eyes sparkled with mischief now, the solemnity giving way to familiar playfulness. He leaned in, his mouth close enough that she could feel the smile in his words. “Dear L,” he murmured, “you kiss nicely.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. “Nicely? That’s all?”
“Very nicely,” he amended solemnly.
“Dear R,” she said, chin tilting up in mock offense, “your compliments could use work.”
“Dear L,” he countered, lowering his forehead to hers, “your wit remains as dangerous as ever.”
“Dear R,” she whispered, her voice softening again, “I dare you to kiss me again.”
“Oh, a new dare? How positively bold of you, my lovely Lise.”
“I believe it’s only fair if I write a few of them now. You’ve been monopolizing all the dare space in our letters. And now that I’ve completed the original list, it seems we are in need of a new challenge.”
He smiled then, that slow, devastating smile that made her heart trip over itself. “I would be delighted for you to write as many dares as you’d like. For now, I shall gladly accept the first one.”
And with that, he brought his mouth down to meet hers again.