Page 155 of Creatures that Breathe

“You must know everything about it, then.”

Her smile is mischief, and I lock my knees. “If it’s such a big secret, people shouldn’t discuss it in public.” She brushes blue ringlets over her shoulder. “They think I never listen.”

“They underestimate you.”

“You never do.” My brow quirks up, and she cants her head, ankles crossing on the footrest. “Sin once told me he tried writing your name down ten times in a row, but when he read it back, he’d written his own name.”

“That says more about Sin than me.”

She laughs. “Atlas says he can only ever picture you as a mortal in your military uniform. Apparently, you had a scar right here.” She draws a gruesome line down her cheek.

I offer a tight, comforting smile. “Your guess as to what caused it is as good as mine.”

“He told me your rank,” she says carefully, watching for a reaction I fight to smother. “I don’t think he meant to, but he did and I …” she trails off with a curl of those pink lips. I dig my fingers into the steel doorframe to anchor myself. “I like to read, so I looked you up. I searched for the stricken names, soldiers lost in action.”

My breath hitches. “Don’t.”

“Don’t you want to know your name?”

The name of a male the world forgot? What’s the point? Except for her to say it. “I—eventually? Maybe. Not—I just want to be Cross to you first.”

Her features soften. “I like him.”

Zeus, she’s killing me. “Good. And you can just be Leni.”

“If I must.” She’s teasing me now, bent forward in her seat, toes wiggling.

I’m across the shop before I realize it, a pool of black flooding the tile behind me. “Only after we figure us out will we introduce past selves, deal?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Her gaze sinks to my mouth, studies me intently. “It’s true though.” Her finger hooks on the pocket of my jeans. “Your name doesn’t matter to me. We’re magnets. To find you, all I have to do is close my eyes, and to want you, I need only open them.”

I inhale a deep breath, exhale slowly, fisting and unfisting my hands. No closer. Enjoy the honeysuckle and sweet, revel in the bead of sweat gliding down her chest over empty skin.

Do not wonder what it tastes like.

Do not ask to find out.

It takes active effort to pry my attention from her mouth. “You’re just an extremely skilled tracker.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m not honored by the Gods with natural, ichor born talent?”

“Cut out my tongue if I ever do.”

She grins. “I’ve been thinking about your tongue.”

I hesitate, allow myself seconds to enjoy the pour of whipping desire before I warn, “Leni.”

“Cross.” She’s still smiling. “Come here.” A tiny wiggle of her fingers and I’m helpless to comply.

Even as I tell myself to fight it, I’m walking toward her.

She sets her palms on my shoulders. “How long has it been?”

“Since you died?”

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