But I stared for too long. With fresh tears, she flung her arms around my neck and buried her head in my shoulder. Cursing my mistake, I cradled her face in both hands. Gently. So gently. I tipped her face up to look at me. And then—with deliberate care—I pressed my lips to hers.

I couldn’t soothe this ache. I couldn’t right this wrong. In all likelihood, we’d both burn at sunset.

But I could hold her.

“I love you,” she breathed, lashes fluttering as I brushed soft kisses along her cheeks. Her nose. Her eyelids. “I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you after.” My lips trailed down her throat. Toward her scar. Her head fell back in response, baring it to me. Completely vulnerable. “Before my mother slit my throat on Modraniht”—the words sounded like a confession—“I thought I’d never see you again. A witch and a witch hunter can’t have each other in the afterlife.”

I lifted my head then. “I’ll find you again, Lou.” The words came readily, as if they’d been waiting on the tip of my tongue. A confession of my own. Perhaps I’d said them before. I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. Though I’d lost our past, I refused to lose our future too. Even death wouldn’t take it from me. “I promise.”

She met my eyes with languorous heat. “I know.”

Despite the urgency of our situation—the huntsmen patrolling outside, the sun setting over the city—Lou didn’t rush as she slipped her palms into my collar, as she slid them down my back. My own hands moved leisurely to the hem of her shirt. Peeling the fabric from her belly inch by inch, I lowered her to the floor. She stripped my own shirt overhead. Heat pooled between us as she traced the scar on my torso, as I eased down her body. As I tasted each curve. With every breath, every touch—sultry and slow, as if searching—the intensity built. The quiet desperation.

Her fingers curled in my hair.

My tongue stroked her hip.

“You called me your heathen,” she said on a sigh, arching and shifting my mouth lower. Lower still.

I would find her again, yes, but we still had this moment. This last breathless hour. “You still are.” Sliding her pants down her legs, I flipped her over. Trapping her. Her nails raked against the bars on the floor as I lifted her hips to kiss her. As I stroked her there instead. Her trembling built and built until at last she fractured—biting her hand to stifle the sound—and I hauled her flush against my chest. Pressed her against the bars. Waited with ragged breaths.

Her head fell back on my shoulder, and she snaked an arm around my head. Her lips slanted up to meet mine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I plunged into her without another word—unable to speak if I’d tried—snaking one arm around her waist. Heat ripped through my entire body. Overcome, my other arm wrenched her backward, wrapping around her shoulders. Holding her to me. When her fingers braced against my forearm, I couldn’t look away from them. Smooth and golden atop my own paler, rougher skin. The simple sight of it tightened my chest to the point of pain. So similar. So different. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t breathe. She felt—she felt like heaven, but I forced myself to move slowly. Deeply. To savor her. At her moan, I clapped a hand to her mouth. “Shh. They’ll hear.”

She had other ideas.

Twisting in my arms, she bore me back to the floor and pinned my hands above my head. Leaning low, she bit my lower lip. “Let them.”

The last of my breath left in a rush. I fought to remain still as she moved atop me, pressure building until I clenched my eyes shut. Until I couldn’t help it. Until my hands descended on her hips, and I coaxed her to move faster, adjusting her angle. Watching as her lips parted, her breath quickened. Though the pressure at my core swelled to physical pain, I gritted my teeth against it. Not yet. Her body moved in perfect unison with mine. She was perfect. I’d been so foolish to not realize before. So blind.

When she shuddered in release a moment later, I let go too—and in that moment, gold winked in my periphery. Just a flash. There and gone before I could fully register it. A figment of my imagination.

A fragment of memory remained, however. A handful of words. My words.

It heeds those who summon it.

Pain wracked my senses at the realization, and I bowed over with it, nearly toppling sideways. Lou’s eyes shot open in alarm. “Reid?” She shook me weakly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The pain passed just as quickly as it’d come. Just as inexplicably. When she remained unconvinced, I shook my head. “I’m fine. Truly.”

“A memory?”

“It’s gone now.”

With a weary sigh, she wrapped her arms around me. I crushed her in my own. We sat like that for several minutes, simply holding each other. Breathing. Her cheek fell heavy upon my shoulder. “You should dress,” I murmured at last. “The huntsmen . . .”

“I don’t think I can move.”

“I can help.”

Her arms constricted briefly, but she didn’t protest as I slipped first her shirt overhead, then mine. I tugged her pants into place next. She didn’t bother lacing them. Instead, she collapsed back against my chest. Her eyelids fluttered. Swallowing hard, I stroked her hair. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

“They could still come, you know.” She smothered a yawn, her eyes drifting shut. “The others. They could still rescue us.”

“They could.”

I held her tighter than necessary as she slipped under. The silence seemed to grow and stretch in her wake. The torchlight flickered. “They could,” I repeated firmly. To her. To myself. To anyone who would listen.

They could still rescue us.

But they didn’t.

A Single Spark

Reid

When the door opened an hour later, I knew immediately the time had come.

Two huntsmen followed the first, shoulders rigid and Balisardas drawn. Two more filed in after that. Another set. Another. They kept coming until they filled the council room completely. Others waited in the corridor beyond. Dozens of them. Though I scanned their faces in search of Jean Luc, he wasn’t there.

Lou startled awake at the footsteps, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “What is—?”

She inhaled sharply as she took in the room, jerking upright. The Chasseur nearest us dropped his eyes to the laces of her trousers. He barked a laugh. Swiftly, I twisted to block her from sight—pulling her to her feet—but she merely leaned around me and flashed a catlike smile. “See something you like?”

Despite her bravado, her eyes remained red-rimmed and puffy. Overly bright. Her hand trembled against my arm.

The huntsman’s lip curled. “Hardly.”

Sniggering, she surveyed his trousers pointedly. Stepped around me to lace up her own with casual nonchalance. “I doubt that very much.”

“You little—” He lunged for the bars, but when Lou met him there, moving with lethal speed, he changed his mind mid-step. Pointing his Balisarda at her face instead, he said, “You’ll sing a different tune soon, witch. Your last word will be a scream.”

She beckoned him closer. “Why don’t you come in here and show me?”