Daylight

Chapter 32

Elain asked herself what she was doing for what she was sure was the three thousandth time. She was sitting in his lap, for Cauldron's sake. But his kiss was like oxygen. The more breathless it made her, the more desperately she needed it.

She felt slightly guilty. She was always so proper, so reserved, and now she was trying to hold herself back from ravaging him like some kind of feral animal. She also knew she shouldn't compare them, but Graysen had never awoken such a primal desire in her. Though her sisters might think her one, Elain wasn't a maiden. She certainly wasn't a whore by any means, though. There had been Graysen and before him, a kind boy in their village. But she had never absolutely craved someone the way she wanted Lucien.

The sound he'd made when she nibbled on his lip had driven her absolutely wild.

When he raked his hands up the length of her back and brought his mouth to the tender skin on her neck, she stopped caring about propriety and what was expected of her. She'd spent too long being what other people expected her to be. All she wanted right now was to be with him. To hell with being proper. She was no longer the daughter of a merchant who was expected to curtsy and entertain guests in a stiff and musty sitting room. She was strong and powerful. She was High Fae... and she was straddling her mate's lap.

"Elain." He breathed her name like a prayer, like she was his salvation.

And then she felt it.

It was like the snap of a whip, only without the biting pain. The indestructible tether that connected her to him—and him to her—had grown taut. It tugged on her heart and she knew the other end was tied firmly to his. If Lucien was the sun, Elain was the dawn. They were every sunrise since the birth of the world. He was hers, wholly and completely. And she was his—mind, body, and soul. Every part of her belonged to him. Belonged with him. Anything else was unthinkable.

The mating bond.

She had known of its existence, had used it to talk with him mind-to-mind. But she'd taken it for granted. She'd never actually felt it until now.

No, that wasn't true, she reminded herself. She had felt it before, so many months ago when she'd still been rejecting anything and everything to do with Prythian and her Making. When he had tugged on it and she had panicked, withdrawing even further into herself. Then, she had been terrified of it. And now... she ached for it.

How her mate had withstood it this long, she had no idea. It had only been a minute—maybe two—and Elain already wanted to lose herself in him forever.

He nipped at her collarbone and she drew in a sharp breath. She had never wanted anyone so much in her entire life. Her heart was beating wildly as she fumbled to pull her skirts aside. Oh, gods, this was actually happening.

"Lucien," she breathed, "I—"

"Don't!" He yelped as if she had burned him.

Elain blinked at him.

"Don't say it," he begged. "Not yet."

She didn't—she couldn't—understand. She thought that he'd wanted to hear those words more than anything.

"Wh—"

"Please don't say it just because I'm leaving," he forced out. Every word seemed to cause him physical pain as he fisted the sheet in his hands. As if he had to physically force himself to stop touching her. She wished he wouldn't. She wanted those hands roving all over her. "If it's really how you feel, tell me when I get back."

There was true regret in his russet eye, which was locked on her left hand... and the ring that still weighed down her finger. Of course, he didn't want her to say that—not while she still wore it. She felt like a fool as he shifted his hips and scooted aside until she was no longer straddling his lap. They were both still breathing heavily.

"Believe me," he said, his voice low and raspy, "I want nothing more than worship you between these sheets."

Elain's insides turn to liquid.

"But it just doesn't feel right this way."

She could hardly believe what she was hearing and yet, her heart felt like it might burst because of it. He had wanted her from the moment he'd seen her... and he was turning down the opportunity to finally bed her, all so there wasn't a chance she would later regret it. She didn't deserve this male.

"I suppose you're right," she said with a frustrated sigh. "Plus, think of how truly unfortunate it would have been if Nesta had barged in."

She thought she felt Lucien actually shiver. "Oh, Cauldron boil me," he muttered. "I have to find my own place. Immediately."

Elain giggled. What the hell was wrong with her?

She softly rested her hand against the brutal scar on his left cheek and kissed him. He'd told her not to say it yet, but perhaps she could show it.

The pillows he'd been using as a backrest had gotten strewn about during their brief but passionate interlude. Lucien retrieved two from the floor and tucked one beneath his head with a yawn.

Elain made an instant decision and instead of going back to her room or even the armchair by the window, she lay down beside him, nestling back into the crook of his shoulder. If he was surprised, he didn't show it; although, she thought she felt a surge of astonished delight that didn't belong to her. He wrapped one of his firm, muscular arms around her as she draped her arm over his chest.

Lucien gently took her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips against her knuckles.

"You have no idea how truly exceptional you are," he murmured.

"I might say the same thing about you," she replied.

Outside the window, a shooting star flashed across the sky.

"Make a wish," he said.

Elain thought for a moment. There was a superstition about wishing silently on a shooting star, but she didn't care much for superstitions anymore.

"I wish... I hadn't been so afraid," she admitted, both to him and to herself. "That I hadn't been so stubborn and so unwilling to acknowledge what you were to me. We could have had so much more time..."

"Elain, dove, I'm not going off to war."

"It certainly feels like it."

"It's just for a few days," he assured her. "A week at best."

"Anything could go wrong," she countered, propping herself up on her elbow so she could look him in the eyes. Those brilliantly beautiful mismatched eyes that captured and expressed so much.

"That brute could show up early. It might take longer than you think to break the curse. Anything could go wrong. That mortal queen might try to express her gratitude to you for breaking her curse by, I don't know, offering to—"

"Stop," he ordered. His tone was gentle but firm. He pulled her back down to him and she nestled in the crook of his shoulder once more.

"Don't let your mind drive you mad with 'what ifs.' It'll be fine," he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm yours. Only yours."

And maybe it was the lingering euphoria of the bond snapping into place or perhaps she was just being naïve, but with Lucien holding her tightly as she drifted off to sleep, she believed him.