Moon's Flower (Kingdom, #6)

“Always,” he whispered and then he was gone and there was nothing to show he’d ever been. There wasn’t even a footprint in the grass.

Calanthe stood in the middle of the woods with a dumbfounded expression. Jericho had excited a passion in her, a desire that (while she couldn’t completely understand it) made her want to be reckless and free and now it was all gone.

Just gone.

There’d been so many questions and not nearly enough time.

The rustling of a bush snagged her attention. She didn’t turn because she already knew who it was. “June,” she whispered.

June’s eyes were bold and bright. “Calanthe.”

And she knew by the way her friend said it, that she’d seen it all. There was no excuse to give; there would have been none anyway. June’s countenance was practically dumbfounded as she said, “My friend, what are you doing?”

And though it grieved her that Jericho was no longer here, she could smile, because the mere fact that June had seen him too was proof that he wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a fa?ade of her most secret yearnings, he was a man and he was real and she loved him. Desperately. And in one month he’d be back.

“Falling in love, June,” she whispered and tipped her gaze heavenward. “Completely, madly, wildly in love.”

*

The next month was excruciating for Jericho. Watching Calanthe day in and day out, desperate to touch her. To hold her. To kiss her as he had. To feel her tiny shudders, the way she trembled in his arms… it was painful. The forced separation only increased his need, his obsession to be with her.

His moods were foul, every night that he had to share space and time with Siria only increased his agitation. He did not want to be with her. Did not want her company… she’d forced this existence upon him, and granted, had she never brought him to Kingdom he would never have met Calanthe but that was a very small consolation prize. Because being unable to have and hold the treasure you craved most in life was a torture all its own.

Tomorrow he could go back to her. Somehow they’d gone through another month and he was so grateful that Calanthe hadn’t created another moon flower because that would have been so much worse. To have her touch his body, but him be unable to touch hers…

Gripping the railing, he stared hungrily at the scene below him. Every night Calanthe returned to their woods. To their knoll, she sat and she stared up at the moon and sometimes would even wave.

One time, she’d laid on her back and held up a thin sheaf of bark with an etching that read, “I miss you,” and it was like someone had ripped his heart from his chest. He’d watch as she’d create the most amazing blossoms of pinks and blues and violets and silver. In short, he was awed and fell more surely and deeper in love.

He stayed where he was at, until he no longer could. Until the navy blanket of sky began to pierce through with bolts of pink and orange, until his body trembled from the ache of standing too close to the sun. Even in its weak form, the sun was too much.

For a split moment the shaded mirage of Siria appeared before him wearing a shocked expression on her face because he’d never stayed outside this long. Head throbbing, mouth tasting like cotton he knew he couldn’t stay any longer. Weakened, he shot like an arrow back to the safety of the castle and gulped in mouthful’s of air as his body shook with a run off of adrenaline and pain.

He slept fitfully all that day, waking from dreams much to real. Panting because he realized he hadn’t been holding Calanthe, hadn’t been inhaling her sweet perfume, and hadn’t been pushing deep into her pliant and silky, wet body. By the time the veil of night called to him, he jumped from his bed and ran to dress.

It took only seconds. He wanted to take more time, wanted to shave his whiskers and make himself look as presentable as he possibly could, but he’d waited so long and the anxiety of the moment was simply too much.

Pulling out the same outfit he’d worn the first night they’d met, he tossed it on and brushed his teeth and that was the extent of his primping.

Running to the railing he knew, damn the consequences, he would not be jumping in between realms tonight. He was going straight to her.

But in his rush, he’d forgotten all about Siria, which should have told him just how reckless he was being.

“Jericho!” She called to him as he’d sped by, his name on her tongue made his body freeze mid-step.

Frowning, he whirled, a hundred different thoughts crowding his head. First and foremost among them, Siria could never know.

Tonight she wore a scarlet and gold robe that fell to the floor in a silky wave. The sash was tied loose enough that with each step she took he caught a glimpse of her lean, naked form.

“Siria,” he drawled, then bit the inside of his cheek.

Was Calanthe even now waiting for him? Had she counted down the days, did she know what today was? He shifted on the soles of his boots.