YONA His pain was cleaving my heart in two. This tortured, beautiful man across from me deserved so much more than he was allowing himself to have. His eyes shimmered with the pain of his loss, and the knowledge tore at my soul. He was mourning, and had been for centuries; but also couldn’t move on without feeling guilty. The struggle was written all over his face and I couldn’t hesitate lest it cost me. Leaning forward I cupped his cheek, my hand brushing over the rough stubble there, before I met his chapped lips with mine. He groaned at the contact, his hands fisting at his sides as he fought his urges. I knew, I could feel, he wanted this; me. Yet he thought himself unworthy, and he had to reach his breaking point before he gave in, a point I planned to push him to. My fingers gently traced a path down his arm, resting at his wrist, my tongue flicking at the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance. In a moment I was under him, Cain having lunged forward, his arms wrapped around