Page 33 of The Musician and the Monster

Ceridwen’s song rang out into the night, strong and sure despite the cold air. The tune was beautifully tragic, full of depth and layers that moved even his dark spirit. How anyone could listen to such music and not be affected was beyond reasoning. Even without words, the rise and fall of the melody wove a tale that could pierce the heart, stitch it back together, and then rend it asunder once more.

At the end of the second song, a livelier tune that chased away the sorrow of the first, Ceridwen lowered her flute. Her cheeks were pink. A few flakes clung to her hair, and she had to be freezing.

“Your songs are lovely, even when your hands are numb,” he remarked. “Perhaps some gloves would help?”

She smiled at him. “It’s hard to play in gloves.” She traced her fingers over the holes in the keys. “If we cut off the fingertips, that may work, but it’d be such a waste of a good pair of gloves.”

Always worried about the cost. He admired that, even when a pair of gloves was nothing to him. “I’ll see to it.”

“But—” she started.

“Don’t worry aboutthe price. Consider it a gift.”

She dipped her chin, the flush along her cheeks rising. “That’s very kind.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, though it was clear to her it meant a great deal. He should have thought of it sooner.

“I love to watch you play,” he admitted. There was something magical about it, even more than the enchanting tunes she wove into the night. “To see the way you lose yourself so completely in the melody. The softness of your face. The flutter of your eyelids as the song lures you somewhere far away from me.” He closed the distance between them and swept a gloved hand down her cheek. “The gentle pucker of your lips.”

Her gaze snapped up to his, wide-eyed and mesmerizing. “Drystan.”

He cupped her cheek, savoring the soft inhale of her breath.

“Perhaps we should go inside.” She stepped away, aiming for the balcony doors, but he caught her about the waist.

She whirled around at his bold touch, her flute a last barricade between them as he drew her close. “W-What are you doing?” she stuttered.

When she didn’t try to flee again, he tugged her even closer, his forehead leaning in to nearly brush hers, the fog of their breaths mingling together. “What I’ve wanted to do for days.”

He thought she might pull back then, turn away from him again, but when she blinked up at him, leaning ever so gently against his chest, it was all the invitation he needed. The warmth of her breath swept across his lips moments before he claimed them with his own.

So soft. So warm.

He felt her stiffen under his palm, but it was quick, gone in an instant before she relaxed again, her body pliant and willing in his embrace. Her lips brushed his in the gentlest touch, nearly breaking something within him.

The ice encasing his spirit melted in a rush of fire, flowing outward from his chest. Drystan groaned as her lips moved against his own, a tentative answer to the initial question of his kiss.

Her flute pressed awkwardly between their bodies, but he guided her closer until she was encased in his warmth, the floral notes of her scent stirring up the desire buried deep within him and setting him aflame. She dug her hand into the material of his shirt, so warm and insistent in contrast to the chill night air against his back.

It was the greatest gift and the most agonizingly delightful torment, one he thought perhaps lost to him forever. He didn’t deserve to kiss someone so lovely,so innocent.

Drystan forced himself to relinquish her kiss, to let her go before he lost himself in her completely. Her eyes fluttered open, her heavy breathing and dilated pupils making his cock strain painfully against his breeches.

“I thought you might whack me upon the head with your flute,” he teased. It would have been worth it. So worth it.

She glanced away, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. The act nearly had him groaning in pleasure.

“Is that what you wanted?” Ceridwen glanced at him from under her lashes, as if she couldn’t bear to fully look at him. In truth, if she did, he might lose the last of his resolve and kiss her again.

“No.” He flexed his hand against her side, unable to relinquish that last bit of connection. “You’ve already given me so much more than I’d dared to hope.”

“Why me?” She glanced away again.

A fair question. He was noble, she a commoner, and the two rarely mixed, but their status had little to do with desire. In fact, he’d gladly give whatever shred of status he had left to linger with her. “You enchant me.” He slid a hand up her side, eventually cupping her cheek and angling her face toward his. “Your songs, your spirit, they show me a glimmer of the person I used to be.”

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite decipher.

“I’d almost forgotten him, lost here inside my lonely tower,” he added.

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