Page 60 of The Last Hope
Court skims a page. “It’s two parts ridiculous, one part intriguing.”
“A book you don’t like.” I grin. “I’m liking this book already.”
Light passes through his grim eyes. “Aren’t you busy sewing something hideous?”
I laugh. “Yeh, and you’re gonna love this hideous thing on me.” I chew a toothpick and eye the line of his squared jaw. Moodiness in his grave features and feelings, a constant companion that I like greeting.
“Probably,” he whispers, his gaze stroking my mouth.
Fire flames my muscles, my yearning, and I toss my toothpick aside. His hand slides up my neck, tugging my hair—I feel the strands gliding between his fingers.
I lean in, untamed eagerness pounding our hearts.
“Mykal.” He breathes against my lips.
Court.Not afraid, not hesitant. Not anymore.
I bridge the gap. Mouths melding, we pull together as fast and powerfully as a gun blast. Hands gripping. Kissing, a hunger awakens. Trembling my bones. Achingcloser.
Closer.
More.
Our knees knock, and I roll on top of Court, my coarse hand to the headboard. Hips to hips, mouths not breaking apart. My other palm slides down his chest. A satisfied noise tickles his throat, but he says deeply, “Wait,Mykal.” His pulse spikes.
“Court?” I draw back, panting for breath. Our lips stinging.
His face is all hard lines. All worries.
Gods bless.I sit on my ass between his spread legs while he pulls himself up. Rigid, jaw tensed. If someone’s been halting and hesitating recently, it’s been him.
I don’t see why. Other than he fears the link is growing stronger, but he didn’t mind as much as I did about that.
“Is it ’cause I smell?” I ask. I haven’t bathed yet.
He rolls his eyes. “No.” He finds his book entwined in the shredded blanket that I’d been sewing.
I rest my forearms on my bent knees. “Is it your brother?”
“What?” Court frowns.
I shrug and stick another toothpick in my mouth. “Kinden didn’t like me much. Maybe that’s stuck with you.”
Hurt clenches his lungs. And I feel that I’m wrong. “I’d never stop kissing you because of Kinden,” he confirms, but he stares off at the wall. “And the likelihood that I’ll see him again issmall.”
“You may,” I say hopefully.
He doubts. “If there’s a future war, maybe I will. And we’ll be against one another.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Saltarians versus humans, and Kinden would be on the opposite side.
Pain grips Court’s throat. He swallows a rock. “I don’t wish to fight my brother.” He’s expressed how he feels empty for Saltarians and for humans. I understand that coldness in him. After all he’s been through, I know why it’s there. Self-preservation is what he’s best at.
But he’s not all cold.
Court clings to what he loves because what he loves makes him feel more and more alive.
And he loves Kinden.
