The west gallery was a ribbon of moonlight and shadow, the statues of forgotten ancestors their only witnesses. He was already there, a darker shape against the night, his control a visible tension in his shoulders. When she stepped from the archway, he didn't move, but the air thickened with the scent of winter pine and desperate hunger. She walked to him, the silence between them louder than any vow, and placed her palm flat over his heart. It hammered against her hand, betraying the stone of his face.
His hand came up, covered hers. His skin was cold. He didn’t push her away. He held her there, his thumb pressing into the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her own pulse answer his.
“You came.” His voice was rough, unused.
“You asked.”
“I gave an order.”
“No.” Her fingers curled slightly against the dark wool of his uniform jacket. “You asked.”
His ice-blue eyes tracked over her face in the fractured light. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the tight set of his mouth. He was fighting it. She could see the war in the minute tremor of the muscle there. He leaned in, just an inch, and the clean scent of him—pine and cold night air—wrapped around her. His other hand came up, not to touch her, but to hover beside her cheek. His knuckles brushed the stray strands of her pale hair.
“This is the last chance,” he whispered, the words a confession against the space between their mouths. “To walk away. To be what we’re supposed to be.”
She didn’t blink. “I’m already walking away from that. The moment I stepped in here.”
A sound escaped him—half a groan, half surrender. The hovering hand finally settled, his palm cradling the side of her neck, his thumb tilting her chin up. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Then tell me what you are walking toward.”
“You.”
He kissed her.
He kissed her hard. His mouth consumed the word she’d given him, his tongue sliding against hers, the taste of winter air and desperation. His hand on her neck tightened, holding her still for the taking, his thumb a firm pressure under her jaw. The cold from his skin was gone, replaced by a heat that seared through the wool of his jacket where her palm still lay trapped over his hammering heart.
She met the hunger with her own, her free hand fisting in the front of his uniform, the tailored fabric crumpling in her grip. A low sound vibrated in his chest, transmitted through her palm—a growl of surrender. He walked her backward, his mouth never leaving hers, until her shoulders met the cold marble of a pillar. The shock of it against her back made her gasp into his mouth.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. His ice-blue eyes were black in the shadows, fixed on her face. “Say it again.”
“You.”
His head dropped, his forehead pressing against the pillar beside her head. His broad shoulders heaved. “I have no right.”
“You have every right I give you.” She released his jacket, her hand sliding up to cradle the sharp line of his jaw. The muscle there jumped under her fingertips. “And I am giving you everything.”
He turned his face into her touch, his lips brushing her palm. Then his mouth was on her throat, open and hot, his teeth scraping the tender skin. She arched into it, a moan escaping her as his hands went to the fastenings of her dress. They were intricate, delicate things, but his fingers, usually so precise, fumbled. He made another rough sound and pulled, the silk tearing with a sharp, final sound that echoed in the vast, silent gallery.
The cool night air washed over her exposed skin. He shoved the ruined fabric down her shoulders, baring her to the waist. His gaze was a physical weight, sweeping over her breasts, her stomach. He didn’t touch. He just looked, his breath steaming in the moonlight, his expression one of devastating hunger.
“Kael.”
Her voice broke the spell. His eyes snapped back to hers. He bent, his mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue circling the peak. The sensation was a lightning strike to her core. Her knees buckled, and his arm banded around her waist, holding her up against the pillar. He switched to the other breast, biting gently, then soothing with his tongue, until she was trembling, her fingers tangled in the short, rough strands of his jet-black hair.
He straightened, his lips wet, his own breathing uneven. He looked from her face to her bared body, then back. The control was a visible fracture across his features. “I will ruin you.”
“You already have.” She reached for the buckle of his belt. “Now ruin me properly.”