The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,127

gaze to them for a quick, fiery moment. “I want to know, now, because this is your last chance to show me.”

At first nothing happened.

He was still, so very still. And so was she, as though her heart had spilled from her chest and dropped to the floor, and any movement she made might crush it beyond repair.

Then a shudder passed through him—a surrender.

His hands slipped from her palms, sliding over the sleeves of her gown, following the path of her arms, until his fingers grazed her naked shoulders, making her inhale sharply at the heat of his touch. The searing path kept burning, slow, steady, until he came to a stop with one hand on either side of her neck, cradling her head. His thumb brushed the edge of her cheek, a gentle, coveting touch, as though he’d been waiting to do that for a while.

They moved as one.

Before Lyana had time to process anything, his fingers gripped her braids, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and they crashed together like a storm against a shore, inevitable, electric, rough and frantic. His lips were on her lips, then her throat, then traveling across her shoulder as her head dropped back with a sigh. Her hands fell along his arms to his abdomen, feeling every muscle tense beneath his jacket, before sliding up his back. Rafe buried his face in her neck, stifling a groan as she ran her fingers over his feathers. Lyana found his lips again, moving fast then slow, sinking into the kiss because they had one night, one short, stolen night, but she intended to take her time, to make the hours stretch, to let every moment count.

Each one would be their last.

They staggered back into the room, tripping over the curtain, wings pumping to keep them balanced as their lips remained glued to each other. They stumbled over the obstacles on the floor, but not badly enough to break apart.

As they fell onto the bed, consumed by a fever spun of skin and magic, neither of them registered the quiet yet resounding click of the door sliding closed.

57

Xander

He fell back against the wall, unable to believe his eyes.

Rafe and Lyana.

His brother and his mate.

He—

She—

They’d been acting strangely, but he never thought…

Not really.

Not in his heart.

Yet in the back of his mind he must have known, understood the signs, because why else would he have been lured awake by a whisper passing across his thoughts, the remnants of a vivid dream murmuring for him to come here?

Xander’s arms began to tremble, true fist and invisible one shaking as something stirred within him, a wild, savage thing he’d never felt before, searing hot and threatening to erupt, a beast crawling from the spot where he’d shoved it, finally spurred to life. All the anger. All the hurt. All the pain. All the awful things he kept locked away kicked and screamed to be unleashed. Fire raged in the center of his chest, focusing his vision until he stared so hard he saw images flashing on the wall opposite him.

Lyana’s surprised eyes as he’d slipped off his mask at the trials. The vehement way her palm had struck Rafe’s cheek. That faraway, broken look in his brother’s eyes. Their bodies entwined beneath the rubble. Her growing excitement. His growing denial. The happiness on his people’s faces as they watched him with their queen, cheered for her, celebrated them both. All of it grew, and spun, and flexed, and settled, until Xander was stone, rigid and full of so many conflicting emotions they all cancelled each other out, leaving nothing but an eerie calm behind.

He pushed away from the wall, squared his shoulders, and returned to his room.

But he didn’t sleep.

He stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, wondering if this was how his mother had felt all those years ago, when betrayal had burrowed its way in her chest, carving its mark, and the weight of her duty crushed the pieces of her heart to dust, leaving her soul with an empty hole nothing would ever fill, not even her son. His body turned cold as if filled with ice, but it was better than the fire—easier to feel nothing at all. As the sun began to sift through his curtains, Xander mumbled the words he’d been crafting all night and spoke his vows, practicing enough times that his voice no longer cracked and broke, but remained a steady, hollow, empty tone to match the