On the street, Lysander held out a hand to Cerise and waited. She hesitated. She didn’t want to get so close to him. She didn’t trust herself to. Dangerously beautiful, she thought. Cerise barely kept herself from grimacing as she walked over to him and then turned so her back was to his chest. He stepped forward and put an arm around her waist. It overwhelmed her, the feel of his muscles, the smell of sandalwood, and the desperate ache in her gut. Being bound meant they were never supposed to be separated, but she would have to give him up soon. And it was killing her. Heaven had shown her the key to giving her life meaning, and if she fought to live, heaven would see that she had the opportunity to fulfill that promise. She also knew that, more than anything, Lysander wanted to go home. The blood bond will have to be severed. It was a thought that made her want to wail. She wished she could ignore the future fate of the world and hold on to him with both hands. No, I need to do what’s right.
