Page 63 of The Enemy's Daughter

He goes still, then pulls back, needing to see my eyes.

Little lightning bolts of excitement dance inside my chest. “Kissme and send the memory. I want to see more than flashes of whatever you recall.”

I know I’m crossing the line.

I also know that if I don’t kiss him for real, before I leave tonight, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

His chest rises with a slow breath. His gaze drops to my lips. “I might be a little distracted to do both of those things at once.”

“Just try,” I whisper, determined. One genuine kiss, that’s all. Then I’ll go home to fulfill my duty.

Tristan’s eyes seem to darken, then they close as I slide my fingers through the back of his hair. We come together in a kiss. Instantly, the connection cracks like a whip through us, and I’m struck with shock waves of heat and possibility and him.

It’s overwhelming. We break apart and my lips feel as if they’ve been burned. Though it’s far from pain that’s coursing through me. I stare at him in wonder.

His chest rises and falls deeply as we lock eyes. “I... didn’t get a chance—”

“I know,” I say.

“We should—”

“Yes.” A maelstrom of heat surrounds us as our mouths collide again. Just like a moment ago, it’s jaw-dropping. All-encompassing. But I’d rather drown in these sensations than make them stop. Tristan’s lips are simultaneously soft and firm. Gentle and ravenous fire. Add to that his emotions—his hope and intoxication—and something feral untethers in me. Our kisses become deeper. Desperate. My bones and joints unhinge as his hands slide up my back. I didn’t know a person could be kissed like this. I arch into him, wishing for it never to end.

Then we’re moving, spinning. Tristan’s back hits a wall. It jars us enough that we separate. I heave for air.

Holy mother-loving fates.

A lock of Tristan’s hair has fallen into his achingly beautiful eyes. He chuckles. “I don’t think we’ll be sending only flashes of memories anymore.”

I blink. “How do you know?”

“Can’t you feel the difference?” He places a hand over his heart. “Because I can feel you right in here.”

I concentrate on the same spot in me and find that, yes, the connection between us is stronger. If before it was a rope the size of a willow branch drawing us together, now it’s the thickness of a small tree. The pipeline to him has grown, and with it, he’s become more a part of me.

I startle as I’m suddenly Tristan, sneaking out of his bedroom this morning, and then the front door.

“It’s working,” I whisper in amazement at his memory playing out fully before my eyes.

Tristan smiles. “Looks like we’ve unlocked another perk of the connection.”

That sobers me. We did. We’re falling more and more for each other. But this passion and connection isn’t mine to keep. I pull back an inch, needing space. Room for my grief. The thought of returning to the clans for a marriage of obligation feels devastating now.

I’m not sure I can go through with it.

It’s a selfish thought; duty to my Saraf and the clansneedsto come first.

But when have they ever done what’s best for me?

Before I’m ready, another of Tristan’s memories opens up in my mind.

“You find a new seamstress, or did you sew that holster on your own?” I ask Sam as he secures another knife onto his thigh.

It’s bizarre hearing not only Tristan’s thoughts, but what his voice sounds like in his own head as he speaks.

Samuel smirks. “I might have made it. You jealous? Want me to make you one too?”

The scene jumps.

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