Page 110 of Creatures that Breathe

But he did. He rescued me, even risked his family.

Hope. Gods, it’s alluring.

Cross pulls me tighter to him, until I’m sprawled over him, my cheek on his chest. His heart beats much faster than mine. “There’s nothing you could do to me that I’d consider wicked.”

I smile against his bare skin. “Because I punch like a wuss?”

“Because you’d be with me.”

“You like me,” I whisper. Accusing. Teasing. Fishing.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of his chest throwing a burst of sparks down my spine. “Yes, Leni. I like you. As well as a flame likes oxygen.”

I can feel the warmth of his breath on my forehead, stirring my bangs, mingling with the sweet scent of his clean skin. “But do you like me just because I’m the only one who remembers you?” I ask, stopping my breathing, going perfectly still.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

A wave of unease crashes in the pit of my stomach, twisting like a ball of ice in hot water. My lungs start to burn. I press my palm to my chest, pushing back from him, returning to my sliver of the cot.

Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, I guess.

“You’re upset,” he reads at my silence.

More like humiliated. I tilt my head back into the pillow and blink at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, wishing I could laugh. Not having the energy for it. “It’s not exactly a compliment, is it? I can’t help but remember you.”

“You can, and you do, but you underestimate yourself.” His fingers gently comb through my hair. He talks to the ceiling like me, weaving his arm back around me, returning me to his chest, clutching me, as if we’re lovers under a blanket of stars.

We’re strokes of dumb luck.

In a voice like gravel, he says, “For the first thirty years of my life, I believed in one terrifying bastard of a god, who taught love as a wholesome, stable entity, tepid water you ease into slowly. For a long time, I never understood the Olympians. At their best, they’re petty. At their worst, they’re deviant and selfish.” He pauses to place a searing kiss on the top of my head, and inhales so deeply that his chest expands, lifting me. “Now I understand. Their love is visceral and sudden. Chaotic and consuming, there’s no wading, no comfort. It’s as brutal as war, and woven in their blood and souls. They are bent and folded to love, helpless to it.” He laughs. “The Gods. Helpless. No wonder they’re spiteful.”

I don’t say a word. Hot emotion prickles at the back of my throat. As a byproduct of being raised by Yaya, I don’t struggle with words. She spoke loudly and not often in sequential sensible routes, and always demanded a rebuttal. Growing up, I learned to keep one on the tip of my tongue.

There are no words now.

He refers to love like it’s a sword hanging out of his gut, and he can either pull it out and die or learn to suffer.

Am I the sword? This brutal inconvenience? All because I remember him? Is he resigned to care for me? As much as I’ve dreamed of power, I don’t want to be a sword to him.

Don’t ask a question if you can’t handle the answer.

I don’t need to learn the lesson twice.

I clear my throat and change the subject. “I got you something,” I say, feeling small and stupid as I reach behind me to grab the transparent pink ball from the table. “It’s nothing big, just …”

He cracks it open into two perfect half spheres. “Batman?” He rolls the figurine between his fingers, the miniature cape and mask glint under the glow of the heart monitor screen.

“There were limited options at the Albany amtrack and I only found two quarters, but it reminded me of you.” Meda hadn’t been answering my questions, and I’d needed a spark of hope, something to hold me together, a purpose.

“It did?” he sounds amazed.

“Obviously. Textbook homicidal silhouette.” I laugh, but it’s choked out too quickly. “It will look nice in your bedroom. You could add to it.”

His arm tightens around me, gathering me into a bear hug. When he speaks against my ear, his breath is like shower steam and his voice is low and gravelly, far more serious than I expect. “My first knickknack, and it’s neither neon nor tacky.”

My hands are pinned, I can’t wipe my eyes. “I didn’t want to scare you off. This is a gradual introduction to clutter.”

His chuckle is warm blueberry syrup on my skin. “Gradual.”

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