Page 111 of Creatures that Breathe

“Hey, I can do gradual.”

“You’re as gradual as an avalanche, pyro. You change everything around you, unstoppable and bold and …” he sighs, as if suddenly lost to the Muses. “You’ve buried me. The entire world looks different because of you. Thank you.”

I nod against his chest, feeling whole steady pieces of me crack and splinter.

I like this male. Despite not wanting to, despite predetermining I won’t, despite his efforts to push me away.

In return, he likes me because I haven’t forgotten his name.

So what? Be grateful, take it.

The block of ice cream in my stomach revolts, twists into a swirling mint chocolate pit of we want out. I’m tired of being liked for things beyond my control. For my blood, for my lineage, for my appearance.

I swallow over a dry lump in my throat. “What should I dream about?” I ask. “Talk to me, or it’ll be him. It’s always him.” Or you.

Cross touch lingers on my hair—obsessed with my hair—separating strands like each one is a scientific discovery. “Do you know the tale of Tantalus?”

Yes. “Tell me it.”

“Tantalus was a man of no special descent,” Cross begins in a smooth, dulcet tone. “He was born in a time of desolation and worked relentlessly to make himself known. After years of labor, the Gods recognized his effort, and he became like family to them. Zeus helped him rise to be a powerful mortal king. Tantalus was revered, loved, rich beyond belief, and in return for the generosity of the Gods, he made sacrifices for them in the name of family and hope and prosperity.”

Dread unfurls deep within me, like a single drop of poison in the bath, slowly diluting, spreading and ruining. “Those are noble reasons to sacrifice.”

“Noble reasons to kill?” Cross laughs, and it’s not the one I like. Not the warm, almost surprised catch of his breath. This is timed and cracked. It’s bitter. “Zeus strike me if my influence has altered your values.”

I can lie.

I’ve spent half my time with him lying. I can tell him he’s a loose end that will be severed from my greater tapestry, a dull bead on a necklace I’m sick of wearing. That he’s had no effect on me.

I can convince him I’m above violence and killing and death. That I am better than him, that I see no merit in survival at the cost of others.

I can lie and he’ll believe me.

I can pretend he’s foul and terrible and call his deeds reprehensible. But I understand him. I see through the black a male who fought relentlessly for good, who made sacrifices, who killed in hope of a realm without killing. Guilt swims in him, as well as regret and still he tries to do the right thing. Tells princesses to run, threatens princes.

I have no desire to lie. Not about this, not about how I see him.

He came for me.

“Death isn’t all bad,” I whisper.

He hums, neither approving nor chastising, fingers still stroking my hair. “King Tantalus was adored, granted everything he’d ever wished—a palace, food, luxuries, family. Yet he never reached contentment. He constantly strived for more, possessed by greed, until one of his own family died at his hand.”

The offense is etched in my memory. A blood crime. “He killed his son.”

“In retaliation, Zeus sealed Tantalus in a pool of frigid water with fruit hanging directly above him. Except whenever Tantalus reached for the dangling fruit, it rose just out of his reach, and when he bent to scoop water to drink, it retreated. Above him, a boulder loomed, ready to crush him if he dared to leave.”

I close my eyes. “So he starved.”

“No. He was one of the Gods’ beloved and gifted immortality. To this day, the fallen king Tantalus stands agonizingly close to satisfaction but is always denied it.“ Cross’s voice hangs rough and gritty in the air between us.

I tilt my head back to look up at him, only to find him already staring down at me. I soak him in. Eyes like stars. Black stars that I’ll remember until I die. His leg has somehow forced its way between mine again, unmistakable hardness relocated to my hip, seemingly only content when touching me.

The pads of his fingers cup my chin and heady desire arcs inside me, as potent as lightning. I press myself down on his leg to relieve an spreading ache between my thighs.

“Leni.” My name, a warning and consecration.

“What tempts you, Cross?” I hardly recognize my voice.

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