Page 173 of The First Spark
As Kalie peeled the hem of the shirt up, her fingers brushed against his chest, and chills crept across his skin. Her touch was maddening, but he wanted more. That moment at training flashed through his mind—how it’d felt with her silky hair twined in his fingers, how sweet her perfume had smelled, how he’d been aching to kiss her.
Stop it.
Zane let out a ragged breath.
Setting the shirt aside, Kalie tipped the vial over her fingers and let the clear paste ooze out of the glass tube. The minty scent of okul knocked into Zane like a pungent cloud, and he wrinkled his nose.
Clearing her throat, Kalie gestured at the vial.
Zane tried to speak, but he didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded.
As she smeared the cool salve across a deep, stinging cut, Zane shivered, clenching his fists. Most of the scrapes were superficial, but the bruises throbbed. The legionnaires had only attacked with their fists and feet, so in a way, he was lucky. Still, fighting through pain always delayed his reaction time and dulled the strength of his blows.
Zane wiped his palms on his pants. He only needed to hold on until Kalie escaped.
“So you’re really doing this.” She smeared salve over a cut, andgoosebumps broke across his chilled skin. “Iliana offered a county to whoever wins the duel for her. Her champion is Hewlett’s nephew Cleon. He’s the best duelist in Usias.”
“Let’s not talk about this right now.”
“Do you really think you can win?”
Zane swallowed. “I never planned to win.”
Kalie’s hands stilled over a livid slash. Her jaw hung open.
He grimaced and leaned towards her ear. “I’m only doing this to buy time for your father’s fleets. As soon as they get here, or if the duel goes badly, Ryker’s going to come get you. You have to go with him. Even if I’m about to die, I need you to promise you’ll go.”
As Kalie’s face reddened, she shoved him away. “You really are an idiot. Gods. I’m not leaving you.”
“Why?”
She looked away. Zane took the vial from her salve-coated hands and gripped her shoulder, but she didn’t look at him.
“Why, Kalie?”
Slowly, she turned to him. Even with her knotted hair, the mud-stained uniform, and the dark bags under her bloodshot eyes, she was breathtaking.
Her glistening eyes flitted to his lips, and she leaned closer, so close that their foreheads almost touched. Zane drew in a sharp breath. The air was lined with the faintest whiff of fruity shampoo. The aroma drove all thoughts from his mind, other than the maddening desire to touch her, to feel her, to taste her lips.
Kalie threaded her fingers through his hair.
He closed his eyes, and the cell melted away as she pressed her cracked lips to his.
The kiss was slow and soft, and it sent a surge of warmth jolting through him. Burying his hands in her silky hair, he pulled her closer. A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered that he didn’t deserve her, he’d never be good enough.
He ignored it.
He moved his lips gently against hers, trying to tell her without words how special she was. How honored he was that she’d chosen him, and how he’d spend the rest of their time together making it upto her, if she’d let him. She slid her arms around his neck, like she was claiming him as hers, like this kiss was the beginning of everything.
They broke apart. Kalie let out a breathless laugh, and Zane wrapped her tangled hair around his finger, sucking in shallow breaths.
Then the cell’s stench washed over him—metallic blood, musty mold, and the awful, distant odor of burning flesh. Sobs and screams drifted down the hall.
Zane’s smile slipped away.
“You don’t need me,” he mumbled. He wanted this desperately, but she’d said it herself: they couldn’t. Especially not now, when Mordir lurked on his doorstep. She’d be left broken and alone.
Kalie pressed her forehead to his. “But I want you.”
