Page 83 of Wolfsbane Hall
She had spent nine years wanting to taste him because, if she were being honest, from the moment she first saw him scowl at her, she was hit hard with longing. She spent nine years trying to convince herself that she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. She spent nine years pretending he didn’t matter, pretending she didn’t notice his presence every time he entered a room, pretending he wasn’t gravity drawing her in.
Nine years convincing herself she would never be worthy of a man like him, convincing herself to love anyone but him.
But Dean was her unquenched desire, a sea of broken promises and dark phoenix fire. Kissing him was like both the sickness and the cure.
Their foreheads met, and Dean said, “Tell me a secret, Celine. Something so real that no one else knows.”
“And what if the Specter already knows all my secrets?” Her voice trembled, thick with her want. “What would I tell you then?”
He nibbled at her lip playfully. “I know you have at least one secret. It’s a massive one. I can sense it.”
She did, but she didn’t want to tell anyone. Just because she finally knew who he was and was finally able to touch her Specter, it didn’t mean she should give away the one final thing, which washers. “I do, but why would you deserve it?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Tonight is about unveiling your secrets, not mine.”
“True.” He wrapped one of her blonde curls around his finger. “Then tell me this. If you could have a future with one of us, would you?”
Yes. Of course, I would choose you.But she didn’t allow herself to say it out loud. “It’s not a question worth pondering, because it can’t happen.”
“I know.” The confirmation was a blow. But he still had his hands all over her, and his eyes drooped with passion. He wanted to kiss her again. “If I could freeze time in a moment, it would be this one.”
Dean let out a low groan and lowered her to the ground as if he had just realized that he still had her strapped around him. Her feet were jelly on the floor, and he steadied her with a chuckle.
Once she’d gotten her shaky legs under control, she staredat him and said, “I would choose you.” She gulped. “But what if I told you my big secret is that I have no future?”
His large, veiny hands squeezed her shoulders. “Of course, you do. You’ll get far away from my family and become a movie star.”
No, I won’t. Not in this lifetime.“Not if I die from the poison.”
Dean flinched.
“But if I am destined to die tonight, then I think I would like to kiss you again…kiss you like I have no future.” She curled her fingers around his tie and pulled him to her once more, and she kissed him like it was the last thing she would do—because it probably was.
Her heartbeat danced with his, and she pulled him into her so much deeper, asking him never to let her go.
“Let’s make this moment last forever,” she moaned, desperately wanting it to be true.
Celestine crashed her mouth into his with a frantic frenzy of passion. She was going to put everything into this kiss. Everything. She was leaving nothing on the table, because she was on Death’s checklist.
The pure passion and hunger of the kiss caused her knees to weaken, and instead of steadying her, Dean scooped her up into his arms and laid her down gently on the bed, because she was poisoned and fragile. She allowed it, but she didn’t want to be so weak that she couldn’t even hold herself up for a kiss.
She was too damn fragile.
His lips never left her during the whole motion, so he ended up on her bed, hovering above her as they deepened their passion even further.
Dean’s eyes locked on hers as he stroked his fingers through her hair, sending shivers down her spine, her body hypersensitive to him. Celestine bit the inside of her cheek and breathed deeply through her nose, not wanting him tosee how his touch rattled every piece of her. She needed a mask of her own, because they couldn’t keep this moment forever. It would end, and when it did, she wouldn’t be able to keep him.
But, oh, how she wanted to keep him.
Celestine had kissed countless men. She seduced patrons, fucked some of them, and played with the fires of passion every week. Heck, even tonight, she’d kissed Everett, kissed and fucked James. But nothing—and she meant nothing—compared to this. Every kiss before this moment was child’s play, simple practice. But this one? This one was bottled wildfire and the well of unending life.
It was every promise and every dream she ever had all wrapped into one.
It was home. Becausehewas home. The Specter was her home and always had been.
Celestine growled. Too many layers of clothes separated them, and she hated it.
