THE FIRST KISS

CHAPTER 35

I don't know which of us moved first.

One moment, we were sitting in charged silence, his confession still hanging between us. The next, his hand was at my jaw, and his mouth was on mine.

Every careful boundary we'd built seemed to dissolve in a single breath.

Then he stopped, his lips barely an inch from mine.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice rough.

"No."

"Mira."

"I'm not saying it." I curled my fingers into his shirt. "Don't you dare ask me to."

Something broke open in his expression.

Then he kissed me again.

It wasn't hurried. It was slow and searching, like a man testing whether the ground beneath his feet would hold.

I kissed him back, and something inside me turned over.

A bright, deep sensation unfurled in my chest, followed by a strange, unmistakable click, like a key finding its lock.

My wolf made a sound I'd never heard before.

Roman went rigid against me. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Then his shoulders relaxed, and his breath shuddered against my mouth.

He felt it too.

I knew it with the same certainty with which I knew my own name.

He pulled away first, though he didn't let go of my face.

"Mira." His voice was hoarse. His forehead rested against mine. "Did I are you"

"I'm fine."

"Are you certain?"

"Roman." A shaky laugh escaped me. "I kissed you back."

"I know. I just..." He searched my face, his eyes dark and wide. "I need to hear you say you don't regret it."

"I don't."

"You're sure?"

"I chose this." I covered his hand with mine. "Not the bond. Not the moment. Me."

He closed his eyes.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Good," he repeated, releasing a slow breath. "Because I'm not sure I could have forgiven myself if you'd felt pressured."

"You didn't pressure me."

"Didn't I?"

"No. I was already leaning toward you."

A flicker of a smile crossed his face, but it disappeared almost immediately.

"That's the first time I've felt that," he said quietly.

"Felt what?"

"The bond. Not the way I have before." He shook his head, searching for words. "It felt like it was answering."

"I felt it too."

His eyes lifted to mine.

"I know. I could tell."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to find out?"

He didn't answer immediately. His thumb moved once across my cheekbone before going still.

"Roman?"

"I haven't kissed anyone since Lyra."

The garden seemed to grow quieter around us.

"Two years," he continued. "Not once. I didn't want to. Or maybe I convinced myself I didn't."

My heart tightened.

"What changed?"

"I thought kissing someone else would feel like a betrayal."

"Did it?"

"No."

"What did it feel like?"

He was silent for a moment.

When he finally answered, his voice was barely audible.

"Relief."

I let the word settle between us.

"That scares me more than the guilt ever did," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Because I understand guilt. I know what to do with it." His jaw tightened. "But I kissed you, and for a moment, I wasn't carrying any of it. I wasn't thinking about what happened to her or what I should have done differently. I was just..." He stopped, frustrated with himself. "Happy."

The last word seemed to cost him more than the others.

"And then I felt like I should be ashamed of that."

"You don't have to be."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I'm not asking you to forget her."

He went still.

"I'd never ask you to do that," I continued. "I'm not here to replace Lyra, and I'm not going to compete with a memory. I don't want you to prove you love me more than you loved her."

"You wouldn't lose."

"That's not what I mean." I drew a breath. "She mattered to you. She still does. Loving someone new doesn't erase the person you loved before."

His gaze held mine.

"You make it sound simple."

"It isn't."

"No."

"But I don't believe loving me means you have to stop loving the memory of her."

His eyes glistened. This time, he didn't turn away to hide it.

"I don't deserve that," he whispered.

"Deserve has nothing to do with it."

He released a breath that almost became a laugh.

Then his expression changed.

I felt him withdrawing before he physically moved away. His shoulders tightened, and the warmth between us began to retreat behind the familiar walls he built whenever something mattered too much.

"Roman."

"I'm still here."

"Not entirely. You're leaving with your shoulders."

He paused.

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"The ridge. The scout. The council. Wren." His voice hardened. "Everything circling you."

"I know."

"Someone's watching this house. Someone has already tried to take you out of it, and I just..." He dragged a hand through his hair. "I just gave them another way to hurt you."

"Easier how?"

"If anyone discovers how I feel about you, they'll use it."

"They might."

His eyes snapped to mine.

"That isn't helping."

"I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm telling you the truth." I held his gaze. "They could already use me. I'm the surrogate, I'm Moonborn, and I'm at the center of a situation half the council doesn't understand. I was a target before you ever touched my face."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I'm not asking you to feel better."

He stared at me, frustration and fear warring in his expression.

"Do you regret kissing me?" I asked.

"No."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know how to want you," he said quietly, "without wanting to wrap every wall of this estate around you."

"Then don't."

His brow furrowed.

"Don't what?"

"Wrap the walls around me. Stand beside me instead."

"That's not the same thing."

"It's exactly what I need."

"And if I fail?"

The question hung between us.

"Then you fail," I said gently. "And we deal with it. It doesn't automatically mean you didn't love me or that you weren't trying. Sometimes terrible things happen, even when people do everything they can to prevent them."

His whole body flinched.

I wished I could take the words back, not because I believed they were wrong, but because I could see how deeply they cut.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I know that's hard to hear."

"It's the hardest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Is it wrong?"

He looked down at our joined hands.

"No." The word came slowly. "It isn't."

I squeezed his fingers.

"I won't ask you to promise you can keep me safe from everything. I don't want a promise you can't keep."

"What do you want?"

"Honesty."

"About what?"

"When you're afraid. When you start thinking about pushing me away. I'd rather hear you say you're scared than watch you disappear behind a locked door and pretend you're doing it for my own good."

He swallowed.

"I can do that."

"Can you?"

"I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking."

"It won't be easy."

"I know."

"I'll get it wrong."

"Probably."

"Mira."

"I'll get things wrong too," I said. "I'll hide things when I'm frightened. I'll try to make myself smaller when I should be standing my ground. Tessa already warned me about that."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"Tessa was right."

"Don't tell her."

"I wouldn't dare."

For a moment, the tension eased.

His hand slipped from my cheek, traveled down my arm, and found my fingers.

"I want to ask you something," he said.

"Go on."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of you?"

"Of this. Of us."

I considered lying. It would have been easier to give him the reassurance he seemed to need.

But we'd just agreed on honesty.

"Yes."

His fingers tightened around mine.

"Of what?"

"That you'll let me close enough to need you, then push me away the first time you get scared." My voice trembled, but I didn't look away. "I can handle a lot, Roman. I can't keep reaching for someone who's always preparing to disappear."

His eyes closed briefly.

When he opened them again, they were clear.

"That's fair."

"Is it?"

"It's the truth." He lifted my hand and pressed it against his chest.

His heart was pounding beneath my palm.

"I can't swear I'll never pull away. I can't promise I'll always know what to do when I'm frightened." He held my gaze. "But I can promise I won't deliberately shut you out and leave you guessing. If I'm struggling, I'll tell you. If I need time, I'll tell you why."

I searched his face.

"Okay."

"And you'll tell me when I'm doing it."

"I will."

"Good."

We sat together as the moon shifted overhead, silver light spilling across the stone bench and our joined hands.

For the first time that evening, I didn't feel the need to fill the silence.

"I don't know what we are," I admitted eventually.

"Neither do I."

"I still don't know what happens with the contract or the council."

"Neither do I."

"Or Wren."

"No."

"Or that click you heard before you found Lyra."

His hand tightened around mine.

"No," he said quietly. "I don't know what that means either."

There were so many unanswered questions between us. The contract. The council. The danger surrounding Blackthorn. The mystery of Lyra's death.

And the strange response I'd felt from my wolf when Roman kissed me.

We had no answers for any of them.

"But I know this," he said.

I turned toward him.

"What?"

He leaned closer, slowly enough that I could have moved away, and rested his forehead against mine.

"I don't know how to do this without being afraid," he whispered. "I don't know how to want you and still protect you from everything circling us."

I closed my eyes.

I had no perfect answer. No plan that would make the danger disappear. No promise that loving each other would somehow keep the world from hurting us.

There was only the warmth of his hand around mine and my wolf curled inside me, no longer restless, but strangely certain.

"Then let's not do it alone," I whispered. "Let's do it together."

His breath caught.

"That's not a plan."

"No."

"That's barely a sentence."

"It's all I've got."

For a moment, he simply stared at me.

Then a low, startled laugh escaped him.

It was brief, almost unfamiliar, but it changed his face. The tension around his eyes eased, and something in his expression became lighter.

"It's enough," he said.

He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, then looked at me as if he were still surprised I was there.

I leaned forward and kissed him once more, softly this time.

He answered without hesitation.

When we finally parted, he didn't retreat into silence or turn away to hide what he was feeling.

He stayed close, his forehead resting against mine.

And for the first time since I'd come to Blackthorn, I believed that perhaps staying wouldn't be the hardest thing for either of us.

Perhaps the hardest thing would be learning how to let the other stay.