Page 94 of Their Wicked Cage

“I have only ever asked you to shield me from one thing, and that’s my coven.”

“I’m sorry, Gwyn.” His voice is laced with grief, with the ache to make this right.

“I know,” I whisper.

“Can I come closer?” he asks, tone barely above a plea.

“Yes.”

There’s almost no space between us, but he treats the last inch like a chasm.

He looks down at me, reverent. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

“Thank fuck.” He pulls me into his arms, clutching me to his chest like he’s been dying to do so. “I’m so sorry, Gwyn. We are friends. I do respect you. I’m usually better at this—at communicating. But around you, I’m a bit of an idiot.”

My laugh is muffled against his shirt. I lean back just enough to look up at him.

“Considering I’ve only ever seen you around me, I can surmise that last part’s true,” I tease.

He kisses the tip of my nose and winces.

“I can brew you more tonic,” I offer, ignoring the tightening under my breastbone. “You should’ve said something if you ran out.”

“I haven’t run out.” His hands slide down to rest at my waist, and the tension in my chest loosens just a bit. “I haven’t even opened them.”

“You haven’t?” My voice betrays that I’m surprised. “Why not?”

“Because of my aforementioned idiocy,” he says, “and the deeply misguided decision to keep us apart.”

“Oh.” Heat blooms across my cheeks. “I just assumed you would’ve used them. With the other brides.”

“Believe it or not, little witch, I don’t just fuck for the sake of fucking.” His features are steady, serious. “Physical intimacy means more to me when there’s… an emotional connection.”

The heat in my cheeks spreads down to the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize⁠—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Gwyn. I’m not ashamed of needing to feel something for someone before I fuck them.”

“That’s not what I was apologizing for,” I say. “But… um… this is good to know.”

Does this mean what we shared was never just sex to him?

And did he also have feelings for Vessaryn?

My mouth twists.

“Now, that’s the face of a witch who wants to ask me something.” He eyes me curiously. “What is it?”

“It’s not my place.”

“Ask me, Gwyn.”

I smooth my hands over my dress. “It’s really none of my business.”

His gaze sharpens, patient but insistent. “We’re being honest with each other, aren’t we?”

I hesitate, biting my lip, before finally asking, “Were you emotionally connected to Vessaryn?”