Emily's POV
His fingers were in my hair, and I leaned forward without making up my mind, fingers touching the front of his tunic as they always did, twisting into the material. He uttered a low note which I heard more than heard. His mouth was no longer on mine, but on my jaw, and on the side of my neck, and I threw my head back and forgot all about the window and the tree line and eleven days and all that Cassandra had said.
It was only the warmth of the fire and the solid reality of him and the silent insistence of his hands, and the idea that whatever was to come, this was what it was coming to, this specifically, this right here, this impossible thing that Claus could name and catalogue and desire to himself but could never reproduce or possess or destroy by getting hold of me,
