Page 62 of The Enemy's Daughter

I break our kiss and shove him. His shoulders barely move an inch. “What did you do to them? Where’s my family?”

His arms hold me as I squirm in his grasp. “You’re looking for your family?” He sounds astonished.

I freeze. Search his eyes. “Of course!”

“Is that what you think I’ve done? You thought I hurt them?”

Where’s that piece of wood? I changed my mind; I need to stab him.

“Isadora, I didn’t touch them.Wedidn’t touch them.”

A tremble enters my bottom lip. “W-what?”

“I didn’t hurt your family. I swear.”

His words land true—my family’s okay. Relief comes in such a flood I could drown in it. “Then...?” I can’t speak.

He pulls me tighter against him. “Hey, don’t cry.”

I push back. “But people were hurt. Someone was shot. You wereinHanook!” He doesn’t disagree. What could—? And then I understand. “You were spying.”

“Observing,” he corrects reluctantly.

“But something went wrong.”

He looks away.

“I’ve already guessed what happened, so just tell me the rest. Blame it on the”—I flap my hand—“connection if anyone asks.”

A muscle in his neck strains. I feel the war inside him.

“Please.” I lay my hand on his chest, needing him to feel my desperation. “You say we’re not enemies, but if you want me to trust you,thisis how it starts.”

The wall he’s built between us begins to crumble. “We were caught by a soldier as we were leaving. He shot Samuel in the arm, but we were able to get away.”

The fight drains from me, even as questions remain. Where did this happen? Did they hurt the soldier who found them? Do I know him? I meet his eyes. “Prove it. I want to see the memory. I won’t risk being deceived anymore.”

He considers me. Then leans in slowly but stops before our chests touch.

I forget to breathe.

“I’ll show you, but I want to ask you something first. Do youknow why the thought of me betraying you hurt so badly? Youcareabout me. I feel it.” Those last words are nothing but a whisper. Tristan’s fingers move, splaying over my back, and it’s a special kind of torture being aware of his touch and the longing it evokes in him.

My eyes flutter closed.

Of course I care about him. He’s been to the edge of death to save me. Risked his reputation.Marriedme.

And now my feelings for him are out of control.

I fear that he’s ruined for me the things I used to accept. How am I supposed to go back to a place where my voice doesn’t matter? Where my future isn’t my own?

Our attraction was instant and seismic, something I felt long before we were bonded by the connection. But now I’m so far gone, thoughts of him won’t stop burrowing into my head. I dream about him constantly, and so much of it is about stupid things, like the way he rolls his button-up shirt on his forearms. Or the feel of his lips.

“Yes. I care for you. That’s always been the problem.” My feelings for him make me weak. They make me think dangerous thoughts and wish for dangerous things.

His forehead falls to rest against mine, and the touch of our skin is every exhilaration I hoped it would be. I feel his relief that I’ve stopped lying to myself, but he’s still confused about what my words mean.

“We’re a malignant fantasy, Tristan. You are Kingsland, and I am clan.” His mouth pops open with an objection, but I keep going. “But you should kiss me.”

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