Chapter Forty-Three

In that instant, the sunlight was so dazzling that Shadowmoon could barely open her eyes. Golden hair danced wildly in the air, and the rosy lips curved into that familiar, devilish smile.

Suddenly, it felt as if molten lava seared through Shadowmoon’s chest, burning hot. Her eyes stung, and at last she could no longer hold back—the tears slipped down in silence, carrying with them all the grievances she had endured.

The shadowy figure finally stopped by the window, holding the rope ladder in his left hand, his right hand reaching out to her with gentlemanly poise. That enchanting voice whispered beside her ear, “Lanlan, will you come away with me?”

Shadowmoon said nothing, only gazing at him, tears falling endlessly. Until the ache in his heart grew unbearable, he sighed, helpless and indulgent.

He leapt lightly onto the rope ladder, landing on the windowsill, and with long, powerful arms, he reached forward and drew Shadowmoon’s petite frame gently into his embrace.

The moment she fell into that warm chest, Shadowmoon clung to him with all her might, afraid that if she loosened her grip, he would vanish—just like in her dreams, where he appeared again and again, only to disappear, leaving nothing but heartache behind.

Yes, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, in these recent days, Shadowmoon dreamt of this man with dazzling golden hair night after night. Each time she tried with all her strength to catch up to him, he would vanish, and she would wake with a start, her pillow damp with tears. Every night, it was the same.

She hated it—the feeling of being abandoned. And more than anything, she hated the feeling of being abandoned by him.

But she was supposed to hate him; how could she be hurt by him, grieve for him, be wounded by his indifference?

Shadowmoon could not understand why. She could only cry as if tears could drain her sorrow away.

The tears streamed down unchecked, and soon Arthur’s shirt was thoroughly soaked. He wrinkled his nose slightly, a trace of amusement flickering in his sky-blue eyes. His arms tightened, as if he wished to merge the girl in his arms into his very being.

Indeed, any crying woman was a formidable force.

Arthur said nothing more. His left arm held Shadowmoon securely, while his right hand reached for the rope ladder. Leaving the windowsill behind, he carried her, swinging gently through the air.

Shadowmoon felt the breeze brush her cheek, cool and fresh. At last, she shifted slightly from Arthur’s chest, her eyes swollen and red from crying, narrowed into tiny slits like walnuts. Suddenly, a chill ran through her heart, and with a startled cry she buried her face once more in Arthur’s shirt, arms tightening so fiercely around him that Arthur’s ribs ached from the pressure.

Arthur glanced speechlessly at the blue sky above, then lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her hair.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

His seductive words brimmed with comfort and reassurance.

Shadowmoon’s heart gradually calmed, though her arms remained wrapped tightly around Arthur, unwilling to let go.

The rope ladder carried them both back into the cabin. Arthur settled into the rear seat, holding Shadowmoon, who still refused to release him. His warm palm stroked her back, slow and soothing.

Nestled in Arthur’s broad, comforting embrace, Shadowmoon clung to his lean yet strong waist. With each gentle pat, her heart settled, falling into a deep, tranquil peace. Before long, soft snores escaped her lips, making Arthur’s mouth twitch with restrained laughter.

From the front came stifled chuckles. Arthur’s expression turned stern, and with a soft cough, the laughter ceased immediately.

“Put that down,” he ordered.