Page 59 of Our Radiant Embers

Another minute slid by, my hand in his hair, tangled up together. The sweet press of his thigh between my legs and another brush of sunlight, right there.

“Am I doing it right?” he murmured, and I needed a second to think. Words.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” I let my lips skid along his cheekbone. “Not that I’ve got anyone to compare it to—never been with another mage. Also, most people don’t have your kind of control. They’d try anything like this, I’d run.”

Adam bent his head, our cheeks pressed together so I could feel as much as hear the low rumble of his voice. “You’re not running.”

“No.”

But I should. The thought faded like smoke.

“You’ve never been with another mage?” he asked softly.

“No. Had a couple of offers—token gay boy, aren’t I? You’re not the only mage who’s in the closet.” I tucked my fingers down the back of his jeans. “But no, thanks—I’ve got options outside the community, and I’m no one’s secret.”

Adam stilled against me, and…oh.

Yeah.

“I can’t.” It was scarcely more than a whisper, his expression cracked open. “You know I can’t.”

Why?

I didn’t ask because I already knew—Gale and their cousins, the legacy that rested squarely on Adam’s shoulders. He was trapped in a cage of his family’s making, and it wasn’t just in his head either. If Adam appeared vulnerable, attention would turn to the others of his generation, allies scattering as the vultures started circling. The Harringtons had been powerful long enough to make enemies, and neither Benedict nor Eleanor Harrington possessed the kind of diplomatic personality that would ease the strain.

“Yeah, I know.” I followed the bumps of his spine upwards and splayed my fingers between his shoulder blades. My ribs felt too tight, squeezing down on my lungs even as I tried for a smile. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” I drew a breath. “But I also meant it when I said I’m no one’s secret. Not even yours.”

We stared at each other, just a palm’s width between us, the seconds twisting through my veins like glacial runoff. I removed my hands from his hair and body, curled them into the sheets instead.

Slowly, Adam nodded. His sigh fluttered like a moth’s wings. “I understand.”

I wanted him. So much. But I wouldn’t get hung up on someone who couldn’t offer anything real.

When Adam rolled off me and onto his back, I almost told him to come back—that it was fine, I didn’t care, I was happy to sneak around as long as it was with him. I held my tongue. Shifted my hand over just the tiniest bit so it brushed against Adam’s, and he slotted our fingers together, knuckle to knuckle. I blinked against the lump in my throat.

Not even yours.

* * *

Adam stayed for dinner.

It wasn’t the first time, and I assumed that part of him enjoyed the chaos and noise. Everyone was crowded around the kitchen table, Jack holding a monologue about how blending magic and software could be the next frontier. Laurie and Dad were dissecting the success of The Beatles and whether Jasper Ashton was too old for her, which made Adam pull a face and comment that age aside, Laurie deserved someone who wasn’t an utter twat. Meanwhile, my mum and Nan Jean were arguing about holiday plans because Mum wanted to take a train to France and Nan Jean insisted on a ferry to Italy.

I could only imagine how vastly different it was from a dinner at Harrington Manor. The aimless chatter also distracted from the silence between Adam and me. It wasn’t strained—I knew he wasn’t angry with me, just like I wasn’t angry with him. But it felt heavy, weighed down by circumstances beyond our control.

Well. As Nan Jean liked to say: if you think that life is fair, you better get your eyes checked.

After dinner, I walked him to the door and waited while he put his shoes on. He rose with fluid grace that I could never even hope to emulate—unlike me, he’d been groomed as the face of his family since his vocabulary stretched past three words. Me, I was still winging it eighty percent of the time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said gently, taking a step back. “For the interviews.”

“Yeah.” He gazed at me for a moment. Then his mouth twisted with something I couldn’t name—not a smile, not quite. “Wear the light blue shirt tomorrow, the one on the ‘maybe’ pile. It’s a classic and it brings out your eyes.”

I inhaled. The front area of the house was crammed like usual, shoes and jackets and backpacks tumbling over each other. Yet he was the only thing I could see. “Oldest line in the book, isn’t it?”

---