Page 64 of Creatures that Breathe

He grins. Wolfish. “Delicious. Perfect in the morning, even better at night.”

I can’t help but smile. “And she’s so. Fucking. Beautiful. Her hair drives me up the wall. And she smells like honeysuckle. All the time. After the ocean, the shower … honeysuckle. It’s like heroin.”

“Yeah?” He raises an elegant eyebrow. “And what—”

“And those tattoos.” I groan, closing my eyes and savoring the image of her adorned body. “I want to memorize them.”

In agreement, Sin’s lips curve into a mischievous grin. “I admire a female who can handle a little pain. Especially in sensitive areas.”

He’s grinning. I’m grinning.

A chuckle rolls off his tongue. Somewhere an angel gets its fucking wings. “So … what does she know about you?” he asks.

My words come tumbling out unfiltered, a reveal I’ve been dying to make. “She only knows that I want her.” She has to, right? Yes. “Gods, wanting her is effortless. Easy. It’s the rest that burns me. I crave her, as if my every atom and cell and nerve solely exist to feel her. I wish it were as simple as wanting her, I need her. More than my next breath. Holding her is … it’s like feeling the full force of my immortality all at once.”

A weight settles between us and regret hacks at me—did I say too much?—but a cool breeze lifts my worries away again.

Sin runs his tongue over his teeth before speaking. “That’s a keeper. I’m happy for you.”

I laugh, careful, light. “I’m fucking miserable. All I want is her, and I don’t even trust her. She’s not telling me something.”

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“I don’t know. It’s just …” I turn to face Sin, feeling like I can confide in him without judgment or ridicule. Sin’s a great listener. “She asked me to … ruin her, but she won’t tell me why.”

He nods, contemplative, wholly absorbed in my problems, a true friend. “Do you think … fucking Hades! Who took my chapstick?” He lunges to his feet. “Zeke!”

“Idiot,” Meda snorts. “Look at his mouth. He doesn’t have it.”

Luke mutters something like, “Oh sure, you can look at his mouth but when I look at yours—”

Only to be cut off by Meda’s, “For starters, a chapped and cracked mouth is not getting me hot. Second, I told you—”

I block them out as freezing dread slithers into my stomach.

Sin’s file flaps in my head. Tastes emotions and influences emotions.

He played me.

Fire lights in my blood. “Fuck off with that or I won’t just cut off your hands. I’ll take your throat too,” I growl, knocking the popcorn out of his hands.

“Oh please.” Sin waves me off, annoyed, as if I should be grateful he reduced me to a mindless sap. “Don’t act like you weren’t gushing to gossip. I could’ve kept you there for weeks.”

I try to gather myself, to remember every word and find a mistake, an inaccuracy that I can cling to, a lie I have to cover up. There are none. Fuck. I dig the heel of my hand into my chin, crack my neck. Exhale. “I would’ve told you if you’d just asked. Don’t fucking do that to me.”

“Fine.” Atlas, a witness to my lovesick confession, cuts to the chase. “What does the female want from you?”

My jaw is bolted shut. “I wish I knew.” Truth.

“Have you slept with her?” Meda. Blunt.

Sin pipes up. “Isn’t it bloody obvious he hasn’t?”

“Are you going to?” Lev, a warning and question. Why does he torture himself?

I look up at the far seats. Drake staring blankly ahead, Zeke folding a paper Pegasus, Luke and Meda now separated by an entire row, Sin peeling polish off his nails.

What would they do if they were me?

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