Annabelle had not been expecting the kiss.

Ezra's lips were not soft, not gentle. It was a tempest, contained within a thread, one she'd never seen brewing until it engulfed her. It was bitter like steel in winter, like wood smoke, like fear wrapped in curiosity. She stiffened for an instant. Then her natural responses took over—she winced.

"Why'd you do that?" she spat, her tone more acrid than ever.

Ezra took a step back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was blank. ...