“I saw it on Dyvinius.” I turn back around so he can put the necklace on. My shoulders slouch as his arms put pressure on them. “So this means I’m actually a Foreseer and it’s not the star causing the visions?”

“Probably, but I don’t know how.” His fingers repetitively brush my neck as he fiddles with the clamp. “I thought it was just the star’s power setting off the crystal because usually the Foreseer ability is inherited.”

I let my chin touch the hollow of my neck so he can get the necklace fastened. “My mother wasn’t one?”

The clamp clicks and then his fingers move away from my neck. “Jocelyn was just a Keeper.”

“What about my father?” I ask, shutting my eyes as his fingers tangle in my hair. “Maybe he could be one.”

He tugs at the roots and pulls my head back. What is he doing? “Maybe, but I can’t say for sure since I don’t know who he is.”

“You don’t know who he is?” I raise my head up and he lets go of my hair, then I turn around and face him. “How is that possible?”

“Because Jocelyn would never tell anyone who he was.” He kneels up on the bed in front of me. “For some reason, she insisted she had to keep it a secret.”

“So I’m alone in the world?” I say and blow out a breath at the truth. “I mean, really alone?”

He shakes his head and gives me a sad smile. “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am,” I disagree. “I have no mother or father. No memories. No friends.” He starts to protest, but I cut him off. “And I understand that soon the pain connected to those will all be gone, but right now it hurts more than the Goddamn cut on my arm.” I pause as I worked up the courage to ask a question I haven’t even so much as dared to think until now. “Can I ask you something?"

He looks wary. “It depends.”

I ask him anyway. “What happens after I stop the portal from opening? Then what?”

He shakes his head as he stares at the corner of the room and, for a fleeting moment, he looks like he might cry. “I really don’t know.”

I could press him further, but there’s no point because I know there are only two ways it could go. I live or I die. I will have a life or I won’t. I will end empty and unknowing, or finally be free. I wonder how people do it. Face death when they know it’s coming? Seize the day when there are minimal days left?

I crash to the bed, my head falling to my hands as I begin to sob. For once, I want to do exactly what I want when I choose and feel every single part of the moment, without holding back or being afraid. I want to live in the moment.

“Gemma.” Alex places a hand on my back. “Please calm down.”

I shake my head as tears stream down my cheeks. My chances are going to end soon. My emotions are going to be ripped away and they may never return. I may never get my moment to feel happiness, love, peace, freedom. And I need one that’s mine.

I sit up and give him no time to respond as I crash my lips into his. I clutch onto his shirt as he kisses me back until my lips swell and my lungs need air. Then he grabs my shoulders and breaks us apart.

“What are we doing?” His breath is ragged. “We can’t.”

My chest heaves wildly. “Yes, we can. Please. I just want to feel before it’s gone.”

“Gemma, I’m sorry.” There’s sympathy in his eyes and my heart prepares for rejection. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I can’t.”

“You’ve kissed me before.”

“I know and it’s getting harder and harder, but I’m afraid if I start I won’t stop this time. There’s just too much…” He takes a deep breath. “There’s just too much meaning and that makes everything more complicated. I’m going to lose control and I can’t.”

I wonder if it would hurt as bad if someone else said it, because it hurts like a knife to my heart, coming from his mouth. I know there are reasons why it shouldn’t matter, but it does because he’s the one that hurt me. He’s also the first person I’ve felt something for. What the emotion is, I don’t know yet. It could be hate. It could be lust. It could be love. There is a very thin line between all three.

I start to climb off the bed as the moment leaves me when he grabs me by the arm and pulls me back to him. He licks his lips and his elbows bend in a little as he lures me closer. Then without warning, that loss of control takes over and he’s kissing me violently. I wrap my arms around his neck as he scoops me up and lays me on my back. His fingers knot through my hair while his other hand travels down my neck, my breast, all the way down to the top of my jeans. I don’t care that it’s wrong after everything that has happened. What I care about is having the moment before I’m gone. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want him to slip his fingers inside me and feel me like he did in the car. I want to feel the peace inside my body. I want to feel connected to someone wholly and completely, even if it’s for a few irrational moments.

His tongue slips into my mouth as his hand slides under my shirt. He snags the hem of it and his other hand glides around to my back. Holding my weight up, he yanks my shirt off in one swift motion and then he unhooks my bra. My chest heaves as I lean up, grab his shirt and begin to take it off because I want to see him and feel him like he’s seen me.

I get it stuck on his head and he lets go of me to reach behind him and finish tugging it off. I immediately slide my hands up the front of his chest that’s carved of muscles and imprinted with a black circle and a ring of flames—his Keepers’ mark.

He covers my hands with his as it nears his neck. Fire blazes in his eyes as he brings my wrists together in front of me. He’s careful not to put pressure on my injured wrist as he moves his body forward and forces me down onto my back. Then he lets me go and compels our chests together. I shut my eyes and inhale in the closeness, the contact, the human connection. Our skin statics as our bodies join and our hearts thud against each other’s chests. I lie there letting the feelings overtake me, consume me. I’m flying, falling, spiraling out of control. The prickle is going wild and a ravenous need I never knew existed jerks me forward. I grab onto his face and seal my lips to his. There’s no hesitation on his part as he kisses me back with every part of his body. I keep thinking I need air because I’m not breathing, but my lungs somehow find a way around that. I stop needing air and I’m free.

My fingers travel up his back and his skin is scorching underneath my palms. His back is stimulated by my touch and he slips a hand under my neck, gripping my skin, demanding me closer. He takes my uninjured arm and my elbow bends as he pins it next to my head. His tongue traces the inside of my mouth before he takes soft nips at my lips, my neck and then just above my chest. Then his tongue rolls across my nipple as he gently draws into his mouth and sucks hard, but I want him to do it harder. I want my feelings to overtake the knowledge of what lies ahead. I want him to make me feel one last time and give me something to hold onto.

Craving to get closer, I open my legs up and let his body fall between them. I begin writhing my hips and rubbing against him, but it isn’t enough this time and he lets me go as he shifts away from me, kneeling up between my legs.

“What are you doing?” I pant as I rise up on my elbows.

Without saying a word, he flicks the button of my jeans and tugs them down to my knees.

“Alex.” I moan as his fingers trail down the inside of my thighs.

He stops at the sound of my voice and meets my eyes. He’s not in control anymore—I’m not in control anymore. Our emotions are controlling us. And the electricity. And the need to keep feeling it. Lust is definitely an addiction; like heroin, potent and controlling.

His fists clench and I hear a tear in his voice. “Gemma, I think, I should stop… I don’t want to. You make me… Fuck, you make me feel alive.”

I don’t answer him. I just kick my jeans off, instigating a low growl out of him as he lies down on top of me again. His hands wander all over my breasts, my hips, my thighs. Ultimately, he takes off my panties and slips his fingers inside me. He feels me until I cry out and then he strips off the rest of his clothes.

I lie naked underneath him, my body sweaty and my heart racing, pumping adrenaline through my body. All I can feel is the warmth of his skin, the comfort of his body and the overriding desire to stay away from what the prickle wants me to feel because it’s advising me that I should pull away. Danger.

When he slips inside me it hurts more than cutting my wrist open, but I’m glad that it hurts. It makes it real, not fake, like everything else is in my life. He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose as his head lowers like he’s savoring the moment.

“Are you okay?” he whispers against my cheek.

I nod, turn my head toward him and our lips connect. He kisses me deeply as he rocks into me and I respond with an arch of my back. It hurts, but it also feels amazingly good and I want more. I loosen up the muscles in my legs so he can rock into me more easily and allow our bodies to move together. His eyes are untamed as he brings my arms above my head and even though it hurts my wrist, I let him hold me down.

When he kisses me again, I bite at his lip and he lets out a groan. With each thrust, my body and mind climb higher toward the ceiling, the sky, and the stars. When I feel myself reaching that highest point, I open my eyes and let my head fall back. I feel myself fix and then break apart again as I leave my mind and then slowly return. Somewhere along the line, I start to cry for reasons I don’t understand. Not wanting him to see, I shut my eyes and turn my head.

Seconds later, Alex’s movements become less rhythmic and then he stills inside me. We pant, our sweaty bodies pressed together and our hearts beating violently. He moves away and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek as he pulls out of me. I feel empty, hollow, like my heart and mind are severed from my body. I roll onto my stomach as he lies down on his back. It’s quiet.

“You were right from the beginning,” he says as he stares up at the ceiling with his arms tucked under his head. “You used to know me and really well. When we were kids.”

I rest my hand next to my face. “I know.”

He turns his head and meets my gaze. “How?”

“I’ve started to remember things,” I say. “Like us running around in a field.”

His mouth tugs to a small smile. “The one with all the flowers?”

I nod and my voice falters. I don’t remember, not really anyway because they’re just clips and images to me. “We seemed like we were having fun.”

His smile turns sad as he scoots down onto the pillow and rolls onto his hip. “We had a lot of fun. You used to pick the flowers and give them to me all the time, even though I would tell you time and time again that guys are supposed to give the girl flowers.”

I remember back in his car and how there was a dried flower hanging from the mirror. I wonder if that’s why he kept it there. Maybe he has thought about me all these years. I could ask him, but I’m not sure I want to know because either answer will hurt.