Jane looked over at him, hopeful.
“Your heart’s desire, you said.” He rose to his feet, his clothes all sleep-tousled and a pressure mark running the length of his face. He was beautiful, she thought, if one could call a man beautiful. There was a question in his eyes, and she knew the answer.
“Gifford, I—” The word balanced on her tongue. Was it so difficult to say? It couldn’t be wrong. The feeling had been gathering in her since those days in the country house, growing and deepening ever since. And now that she knew the secret to controlling her form, they could actually have a future together.
She desperately wanted a future together.
“Jane.” He glanced at the tent flap. “It’s almost time. The sun.”
“Don’t change,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”
“I want to, but—” He began tugging at his clothes, loosening his shirt collar and picking at the buttons.
“Don’t change!” Jane went to him and took his shoulder, like her touch could break his curse. “Want to stay with me more than you want to do anything else.”
“I’m sorry, Jane. I wish—”
She grabbed his face and kissed him, shoving her fingers through his hair to draw him closer. “Stay with me,” she pleaded against his lips. “Don’t change.”
Gifford pulled back for a heartbeat, his eyes wide with surprise. “Jane,” he breathed. “I—”
“Don’t change.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Please.”
“Oh, Jane.” He kissed her. Softly at first, but then she pulled him close and pressed her lips harder to his. And that was it. She could feel him giving in by the way his body pressed against hers, the way one of his hands cupped her cheek, and the way the other slid down her arm. She could feel his desire to stay human in the fevered, desperate way he kissed her. Like he wanted this to last, to make this moment stretch on.
But then he jerked back and threw his shirt free, bright white light enveloping him.
“No!” Jane’s eyes stung with tears.
The light faded, and Gifford stood there as a horse.
Jane pressed her hands to her mouth to hold in a faint sob.
His head dropped.
“It’s all right,” she said tremulously after a long moment. “It’s very difficult to master the change. Even Gran said she had a hard time with it, remember? You can try again. When you’re better rested.”
She went to lift the flap for him to step out of the tent.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Tonight.”
He didn’t look at her as he passed. He just went. Then she was alone in the dim space that still smelled faintly of horse.
She stared down at the tangled blankets they’d shared, trying not to cry. Perhaps she’d put too much hope in his feelings for her. What if he didn’t care about her as much as she cared about him? What if that was why he hadn’t stayed human? She’d tried. Oh, she’d tried, and they’d kissed. But it hadn’t been enough.
She hadn’t been enough.
Jane spent the day waiting for dusk.
She didn’t see Gifford, except the occasional glimpse of him running with other horses, or resting in the shade. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Not that she had time to dwell on him. There was so much to do to prepare for nightfall.
When the sun was almost down she made her way to Edward’s command tent. Gifford trotted toward her, chestnut coat shining in the honey light, and then he vanished into the tent without pausing to acknowledge her whatsoever.
Her heart sank.
She watched as the camp readied itself for battle. The men put on their armor and strapped on shields and swords. The archers tested their bows. The cavalry saddled their horses. And the noncombatants pinned open their tent flaps, preparing to receive the wounded.
There would be wounded. There would be dead.
“All they have to do is look scary.” Edward came outside his tent and saw Jane brooding over the infirmaries. “It’s like you said. They’ll distract Mary from us.”
“I know.” Jane hugged herself. “But some will inevitably be injured. They’re here to draw fire.” Archer was out there among the assembling troops, ready to lead the Pack into battle. Gracie, she knew, had insisted on joining him in the fight. What if Gracie was hurt? What would it mean to Edward if she were killed?
A chill ran through her. What if Edward himself was killed? Her plan wasn’t perfect. There were variables she couldn’t possibly account for. He could die.
She didn’t know if she could survive his death a second time. Or Gifford’s.