Page 109 of Creatures that Breathe

I take advantage of her lapse to kiss her. Light, fleeting, a drop when I crave a mouthful. “Let’s get clean, eat, and then rest.” Another kiss. Another. “And then,” I brush her hair back, hold her frost eyes with mine. “Then I’m going to be very, very gentle with you, Leni.”

28

Leni

warm skin, damp hair. Close

Two hours pass, each second well used. I’m pink skinned from a scalding shower and wrapped cozily in Cross’s black shirt, wet hair soaking my pillow. A faded sky blue clings to the strands, cobalt and sapphire gone for good. My lips are chapped, my eyes sting, and my knuckles smart.

Somehow, Cross fares better.

I spear my fingers through the silky ends of his hair and cinch my ankle more securely around his calf. His bare chest reveals mending wounds, skin building anew quicker than I can comfortably watch.

The lights are out, a pillow stuffed in the gap under the door.

We should probably find an actual bedroom, where we can spread out and there’s no constant pulse of medical monitors.

We don’t.

We stay intertwined in a hospital cot. White sheets pulled medically tight, gleaming safety rails digging into our spines, hips uncomfortably sunk into a seam in the mattress. So miserable, it’s practically Spartan.

Fresh baked cookies couldn’t entice me to leave.

The spymaster’s thigh is wedged between mine. His big hand clutches my waist, as he smooths his lips over the bruises on my knuckles, eyes never leaving mine.

Shivers race from my head to my toes.

He’s hot and heavy, skin thrumming next to me, and the hardness throbbing against my stomach makes my cheeks burn, and excitement zing along my fingers.

We’re so close that I can trace dark green rings around his irises and smell the fresh, clean soap stuck to his hair after his shower.

Gently, his hand glides up my spine, taking away the sharp edge of the railing. “We agreed to rest,” he whispers, voice calm as lake at midnight.

Agreed under duress, bribed by green apple skittles. “Then close your eyes.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, lingering there before slicking back up, darkening. In a low rasp, he says, “I don’t wish to sleep.”

Heat spirals through me. Does that mean he wants to …

We also agreed to wait for that, for gentle. Not under duress.

“I’m afraid I’ll wake up alone. Afraid the curse has learned exactly how best to torment me.”

There it is again. Fear. From a male I’d never have guessed understood the meaning of the word.

He has seven circular scars now. Took seven bullets when Draven swept me away. Out-manned fifteen to one, he charged after me. Very briefly, he filled in the parts I was KO’d for—how he was set up, how he clawed to get to me—his voice had still contained a whipping, bloody fury, as if the hurt was still new and festering.

What are his fears? Not the ruthless Argos, Hera’s appointed peacekeepers, or the vicious Keres, not bloodthirsty Gorgons. Not Gods.

“Don’t think about it,” I coo, as if it were that easy.

His large hand cups the nape of my neck and a flutter stirs my blood, draws my thighs tighter over his. “What if you’d forgotten me, Leni? It’s all I thought about. What if you were trapped with him and you thought I wasn’t coming? That I’d abandoned you? I didn’t sleep as I plotted your retrieval. It devoured me, that you might not have hope.”

Emotion clogs my throat. Too much, too intense. “I’m not going anywhere until I have my wicked way with you.” It’s teasing, but the words stick to my ribs and droop.

I remembered him, and I still thought he’d never come.

No one comes for me. Prey gets trapped. It dies. The end.

---