The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a collision. A desperate, hungry meeting of lips that tasted of salt, brandy, and the sharp, clean edge of forgiveness. It was the release of a year's worth of agony, the silent sealing of a pact forged in the void. My hands came up to tangle in her still-damp hair, pulling her closer, needing to feel the solid, real warmth of her against me.
For a breathtaking moment, she kissed me back with the same fierce intensity. Her hands slid from my face to my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin as if to assure herself I was really there.
Then, just as suddenly, she pulled away.
Her breath was coming in soft pants, her lips swollen from the kiss. But the storm was back in her eyes, tempered now with a new, steely resolve.
She opened her mouth to say some
