Fated

head back and laughs, the sight so beautiful I wish it could last. Leveling his gaze on me when he says, “I guess we’re right back to instincts again—so far, they’ve yet to steer me wrong.”
    “And what are your instincts telling you now?” I whisper, knowing I can no longer trust mine. He’s thrown me so off kilter, I don’t know what to expect, what to do next, other than tighten my grip on the rock in my lap, and wait for his twin to show up.
    He swallows hard. Takes a deep breath as though he’s about to dip under the water again, but instead he says, “They’re telling me to kiss you.”
    He leans forward, gaze steeped with intent. And when his hands find my cheeks—when his thumbs smooth my skin—when his gaze wanders over me, devouring all that he sees—well, I can’t help but notice that it’s happening now just like it did in the dream.
    I squeeze the rock hard, shift it high on my lap—determined to go with it, see this thing through. Raven brought me here for a reason, and clearly that reason is now.
    His face looming before me, lips swelling toward mine, I close my eyes and meet them—telling myself it’s just part of the progression, it’s how the dream goes. The kiss so sweet, warm, and familiar—yet far more soulful than I remembered it being.
    “Daire…” he whispers, his voice husky and deep, as his hands explore the length of me. Slipping under my tank top, discovering every hollow and curve. And I’m so lost in the kiss, the heady nearness of him, I hardly notice when he entwines my fingers with his, causing me to lose my grip, as the rock falls from my lap and rushes down past my feet.
    I slide my palms over his taut, smooth chest, and anchor my arms around his neck. Hooking my legs around his, I pull him closer, yearning to taste even deeper—when he curls a finger under my strap, pushes it down past my shoulder, clearing a path for his lips as he bends his head toward my breasts—and it’s then I remember—this is how it went down.
    This is the moment he’ll be replaced by his demon twin with a snake shooting out of his mouth.
    And now that he’s rid me of the rock—I’m left with no way to defend us.
    I pull away—the move so abrupt, so unexpected—the strap on my buckskin pouch snaps and sends it flying into the water.
    My eyes blaze on his, gasping in panic, when he goes under to retrieve the pouch well before I can move.
    I take a quick breath and submerge myself too. Grappling for the pouch, seeing it just below us, resting on a rock, I push him aside, try to fetch it for myself, but he’s quicker, his arms longer, and he’s claimed it well before I can get there.
    Heading for the surface, I break free of the water, only to find his face shining with triumph, as he takes a moment to tie the ends back together. Paloma’s voice filling my head, warning me to never allow anyone else to wear it, look inside it, not even briefly, or its power will be lost. And though he’s made no move toward either of those things, I can’t take the chance that his curiosity might get the better of him.
    “I’ll take that,” I say, snatching the pouch from his hands, and securing it back around my neck, where it clings to my chest.
    His brow slants, his mouth goes grim, hands fumbling helplessly in his lap, as he says, “I’d never look inside, if that’s what you’re worried about. Believe me, I know better.”
    I clutch the pouch to my chest, fingers seeking the shape of Raven, the feather, relieved to find all is okay, but even more relieved when it suddenly dawns on me:
    This is not how the dream goes .
    The realization coming too late, and the next thing I know, Dace is out of the water, reaching for the towel he left folded on a rock. Running it over his hair, his body, before draping it over his shoulders and saying, “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t going to keep it, and I’d never look inside. I just hope I didn’t scare you from this place. You’re free to visit for as long as you like, whenever you like. If it makes you feel better, I’ll steer clear of it.”
    He turns his back, starts to head for Horse. The sight of it prompting me to rush from the water, my breath coming shallow and quick, tank top molding and clinging in the most embarrassing way, as I stop just behind him and say, “So, you’re giving me custody of the Enchanted Spring?”
    He turns, his expression shifting from troubled to confused.
    “Or are you just granting