Page 54 of Bound
My head whips up. Gage stands feet away, his hand gripping the door. He peers at me, assessing, maybe? His expression twists, and one muscular arm raises in silent invitation.
I barrel over the floor to him, my heels loud in the quiet. He catches me easily.
His body is hot against mine, and it is only then that I realize just how cold I am. He folds his arms over my back, cinching me tight to him as I press my face into his chest. I shake and sob, every sound muffled by my will and his muscle.
Every tear is hot, dampening my cheeks and his black shirt.
Horror dawns and I pull away. “Oh, Gage. Your shirt.”
He holds me tighter with a sound of frustration. “Stop,” he growls. “It’s fine.”
The deep rumble of his voice reverberates into me, making me tremble. No matter how hard I try, I can no longer ignore the feel of him so close to me. His heat. The heady mix of evergreen and ash that seems to pour from him every time I am near. My fingers smooth over his chest without thought.
His heart thumps in my ear, the beat rapid. Racing. One calloused hand digs into my back before he fists my dress, bunching the fabric against my spine. The hem teases the back of my thighs.
I still as heat unfurls inside me, strong and swift. Such thin material. A useless barrier between my body and his touch.
My swallow is loud.
He steps back, releasing me. I stumble at the change, having to throw out one arm to catch myself against the brick wall.
When I look up, his head is turned away. “I need to go back in, but you can stay out here.” His voice is so strange, so … Tight?
I wrap my arms around my waist, missing his heat. His strength.
But I have to be strong, too. Not just for the others or for Bran. But for me.
“No,” I say. The word is a croak, so I clear my throat and try again. “I can do this. I need to do this.”
He turns at that, his emerald eyes dark once more. “Amoret, you have identified Liam. There is nothing else you can do.”
My lips set into an unyielding line. “I can help.” His jaw tightens. “I can’t fight. But I have studied dead languages for years.”
He pivots more to face me. “Are you telling me you can read the warning?”
I stare at him as confusion flares. “The markings are more than a warning, Gage,” I whisper, and his expression goes blank. And I know I surprised him. I lay my hand on his arm. “I know you have no reason to believe me. Or to believe I can do this. But I need to. Those markings are spell craft. A weaving. An ancient one.” I swallow. “And I think I can decipher it.”
