Free Fated by Alyson Noël Page B

that swirls and dances and skims along the surface.
    I’m the first to step in, the water claiming my dress until it clings just like skin. I wade toward the far bank, where I eagerly await the sweet burn of his fingers exploring my flesh. My need like a fever raging within—relieved only by the feel of his hands cupping my face, his lips meeting mine—merging and melding—tasting and teasing—the kiss so bewitching it causes a spark of images to blaze through my mind.
    Visions of a flower budding, blooming, falling from its stem, only to rise up and bud once again—fading into one of a crowd of dazzling souls that shine brighter than day, butting against souls turned so dark they blend with the night. The souls becoming one with the elements, showing the sky’s constant recycle of snow, dew, and rain—the wind’s two faces of harm and respite—fire’s equal ability to heat or destroy—and the earth’s stoic patience as it struggles to absorb all we demand …
    The images repeating until the message is clear:
    I am the hydrogen in the very water I float in.
    I am the oxygen in the air that I breathe.
    I am the small bubble of heat in this mineral spring.
    I am the blood that courses through the boy who kisses me—as sure as I’m the beat in the raven’s wings that led me to him.
    I am an integral part of everything—and everything is an integral part of me.
    A truth that was never made clearer—revealed in one soulful kiss.
    His fingers move swiftly, deftly. Trailing along the front of my dress, pushing the fabric down past my shoulders, down past my waist, where he ducks his head low and his lips find my flesh. His progress halted by the press of my palms pushing hard to his cheeks, needing to see him, really see him, in the way he sees me.
    My thumbs smooth the sharp rise of his cheekbones. My fingers play at his damp tangle of hair. Pushing it back from his temples, back behind his ears, revealing a pair of icy-blue eyes banded by deep flecks of gold that mirror my image thousands of times.
    Kaleidoscope eyes.
    I gasp, unable to tear my gaze from his, unwilling to look anywhere else—possibly ever again.
    “It is time,” he says, his stare deepening until it’s burning on mine.
    I’m quick to agree and nod in reply. Sensing the truth behind the words though I’ve no idea what they mean.
    “There is no going back. You are meant to be here.”
    Going back?
    Why would I ever want to go back?
    I was born to find him—of that I am sure.
    I move past my thoughts, press closer to him. Hooking my legs around the back of his knees, bringing him to me, eager to claim his kiss once again.
    My lips swelling, pressing, only to be met by cold empty space.
    My friend is no longer before me—someone else has taken his place.
    Someone who bears the same strong, lean body—the same sculpted face—but while the hair is glossy and black like my friend’s—this hair is clipped short, kept close to the head. And while the eyes share the same color, flecked by the same bands of gold, the similarity ends there.
    These eyes are cold.
    Cruel.
    And instead of reflecting, they absorb like the void I sense them to be.
    “I’ll take it from here.” He gives my friend a hard shove.
    “You’ll do no such thing.” My friend quickly recovers. His body tense, muscles coiling—prepared to defend me.
    The boy snickers, moves to push past him but doesn’t get very far before he’s blocked once again. His words edged with a sneer when he says, “Not to worry, brother—it’s the soul that I want, the heart is all yours.”
    My friend stands before him, a solid wall of protection. “There is no heart without the soul. I’m afraid you’ll get neither.”
    The boy’s gaze grows darker, deeper, more determined and cruel, discarding the threat with the words: “Then I guess I’ll take yours.”
    It’s a moment before it sinks in.
    A moment before it begins to make sense.
    A moment lost.
    Wasted.
    The threat realized