head on his shoulder and his arm around my waist. Skies, not only was I beginning to trust him, but I was beginning to like him.
“Amara?”
How long had I just retreated inside my head? “I was just thinking about how far we’ve come, you and I. Mortal enemies to almost kissers.”
His pupils throbbed with mock indignance. “Almost?”
“Um. Yeah. Kissing usually involves a little more pressure and a lot more tongue.”
“How about I rectify the almost-part?”
My snark and voice left me. Poof. Gone like the fire in my veins. The only thing I managed was a thin swallow.
This time, when his mouth touched mine, it wasn’t the gossamer brush of a butterfly wing. This time his lips molded against mine, opening me to him. In the haze of sensation, I managed a single coherent thought: I would totally have dropped my weapon on his foot.
His tongue stroked the seam of my mouth, coaxing my lips farther apart before penetrating a little deeper. I’d never been kissed like that before, with such measured skill. It shouldn’t have surprised me considering Remo’s extensive experience. I batted that thought away, not wanting to dwell on the number of girls he’d trained on.
When he pulled back, even though my eyes were lidded, I could taste his pleased smile.
“How was that?” The raspy quality of his voice made everything in me seesaw.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and fixed them on his. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?”
Smiling, I raised my hands to his shoulders, finding purchase on the hard muscles, and initiated another kiss. Where his touch had been measured and firm, mine was chaotic. I liked slow and steady, but I also loved hard and wild. And, I soon learned, he did too. He devoured the press of my lips, the slide of my tongue. Our teeth scraped, and our fingers dented, filling the ridges of his body with the supple curves of mine.
Our kiss was unbridled, delectable, and completely reckless, transmuting years of hatred into something else entirely. Something that would make Neverrians balk in surprise. After all, Remo and I were known for only two things: nasty barbs and nastier glares.
As his greedy mouth feasted on my hushed moans, a series of unwelcomed thoughts scrolled through my weakened brain, reinvigorating the organ which had switched off when his palms had cradled my cheeks. Remo didn’t want any strings, and I wanted all the strings. His mother hated mine, and mine hated his. He was a Farrow, and I was a Wood. Even if our mouths were compatible, our lives and dreams weren’t.
I ripped my mouth off his and bounced away, panting harder than when I’d run from the wolf pack in Frontier Land. “I can’t do this, Remo.”
“I thought you were doing it quite well, actually.” His voice was hoarse and his breathing labored.
“I meant this. Us. We don’t want the same things.” I pushed my hair behind my ears, the weight of the caked mud straining my neck, all but forcing my gaze up to the portal. “Well, besides getting out of here and wishing we’d known our grandmothers. We do have that much in common, but that’s all we have in common.”
His eyes darkened beneath the thick shadow of his lashes.
“Our attraction isn’t real. It’s just a consequence of there being no one else around.”
“I disagree.”
“You can’t disagree with a fact.”
“What fact?”
“Is there anyone else around?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a fact that our choice of partner is limited.”
A sneer twisted his lips. “We didn’t have to kiss at all. It isn’t like we’ve been stranded in the Scourge for years and are slaves to our baser needs.” He stalked toward me, then threaded his hand through my hair, tipping my face back up toward his. “Besides, I didn’t kiss you because you were my only choice, Amara. I kissed you because when you died, I wanted to die, too.”
I covered his hand with mine. “That’s called guilt.”
His eyes shone darkly. “I have never wanted to follow in the footsteps of the people I’ve killed.”
I knew Remo wasn’t angelic, but hearing him admit to having ended lives made me remember just how ruthless he was.
“When that cage let me out, I told myself that if you came back, I’d confess a whole bunch of things to you. Like how, ever since that dile stung you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my damn head.”
My eyebrows squished together. “I was twelve!”
His thumb stroked my bottom lip. “I know.”
“You’ve . . . not hated me for