Page 112 of Touch

His concern warms her flesh, alleviating the ache inside her. Always, this man tends to Love’s feelings before his own. “It hurts to lose my powers,” she admits. “But it would hurt more to be without you. Your touch gives me happiness.”

A devilish grin works its way across his face. Sitting up, he gathers Love onto his lap. “Then I’ll spend every second of my life touching you.”

“You’re not disillusioned?” she marvels. “After everything that’s happened? Not even disenchanted?”

“You’ll never disenchant me. Yes, you’re gorgeous while firing a fatal weapon smeared in blood, stealing and destroying my possessions, and moaning with your thighs splayed around me. But you stop my fucking heart no matter what you do or whoyou are. Wield an immortal bow or a human one. Slip through my skin or not. If your voice is the same, nothing else matters.” He nips her lower lip. “Be ready, because I’m going to make your happiness my life’s work.”

Who takes care of you?

Love wraps herself around her mate, all muscles and skin, and treasures the privilege. As much as she would rather savor the feel of his cock inside her once again, they’re not finished talking.

Her mate shakes his head. “You stole my heart that first day, the second we finally stopped firing arrows at each other. But I should have been blunter, told you how I felt from the beginning. All of this would have been different.”

“You don’t believe that would have been better,” Love argues.

If Andrew had convinced her earlier, had proven his feelings exceeded infatuation or beguilement, she might have pursued another path with him, made an extraordinary choice. Indeed, their time might have been less complicated, less painful. But they would have missed out on other things.

Sacred moments. Forbidden confessions. Desperate touches.

Perhaps The Stars had hoped for this. When they had advised Love to match Andrew, they might have had a greater plan. Possibly they’d known this would happen. Or possibly they had known nothing.

Andrew sets her bandaged hand to his heart. “Right here. It’s all you.”

Love swallows. “I don’t deserve it—”

She yelps when Andrew jerks her flush against him. Across her lips, he husks, “My word against yours.”

Very well. She kisses him back, giving him her mouth and taking his. They haven’t loved as flawlessly as her matches,yet she cherishes their imperfect bond. They won’t remember all that has strengthened it, but this isn’t the end. Rather, it’s a beginning. She and Andrew have only just started, and something tells her more trials are forthcoming. They shall make new mistakes, strive all over again, and grow stronger.

Andrew pries his mouth from hers. “I dreamed about you while I was sick.”

“Mmm,” she hums. “Did I sneak into your bedroom again?”

“No. I was here. Matter of fact, I was wreaking havoc with your sheets when you said something spectacular.”

He searches her face. She knows what he wants to hear.

But not yet. There’s more.

Love forces out the next truth. “We will forget.”

It’s a hushed pronouncement. There and gone, lost to the air, as their memories will soon be, as this glass cottage will be. It rinses the rapture from Andrew’s face.

Revealing the final kernel of their story tarnishes the moment, yet this man has always been as insubordinate as Love. Therefore, he looks at her, rattled but not defeated.

Not him. Not them.

Their arms entwine, the future an uncharted road. Love is not alone. There’s her beloved, by her side with his intoxicating scent, storyteller voice, and protective arms. Those things aren’t going anywhere.

Nonetheless, Love has had time to think. And to decide. The battle of fate versus free will shall continue, and her crew will need help. She won’t give up her place in this conflict without a fight.

When she confides as much, Andrew doesn’t hesitate. “There are loopholes. We can write down the memories.”

“We can,” she says. “Yet in which manner?”

Forgetting would keep her people alive, as well as Andrew and herself. Whereas documenting uncensored facts is dangerous. If they’re going to preserve their past, they must do so safely, protecting themselves and The Dark Fates.

Time will be against them. If the memories dissipate before they find a solution, they must have a contingency plan, a way to communicate with themselves later. The details cannot be explicit, nor resurrect their awareness quickly. They must unravel slowly and carefully, lest The Fate Court should get wind of this tactic.

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