Page 142 of Creatures that Breathe

“Sounds like he owes you then. Not me.”

“Protecting you is my price.” A pause. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

“Yes. Anything.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not white. You don’t like wearing white.”

He would know, wouldn’t he? This male I supposedly love would know my likes and dislikes.

A male who owned me would control what colors I wore. “White is okay. It doesn’t bother me. At least, not anymore.”

His jaw clenches, he’ll be out of teeth by tomorrow. “Right. That’s good, I guess. Leni?”

I know how to answer to my own name.

“If you need anything,” he says, his tone softer now. “Don’t bottle it up. I’m waiting to be asked. Wake me up in the middle of the night, cut me off. I’ll never lie to you. You saved my family today. You saved the people I love most. And before that, you saved me. You have my life, however you wish to use it.”

My heart starts to pound.

Yes. I believe I could love this male. “Cross?”

“Yes?”

“What I did today? You can’t tell anyone. Under any circumstances.” He’s not my husband, he could spill my secrets, unveil a Phoenix. He’d be a hero for it.

“No matter how this unfolds, Leni,” he declares harshly. “I’ll never allow another soul to know. You have my most sacred vow.”

37

Cross

the Sussex Hotel 26 Clark St., Boston, MA 02109

Leni only wants Atlas. She remembers him.

Specifically, she remembers the sound of her fist connecting with his nose and his immediate, earnest apology.

The two of them perched on her bed stirs turmoil within me—pictures painted in red wash across my mind. My leader’s blood pooling on the floor, my knees wet with it, my chin balanced on Leni’s knee, begging for forgiveness.

Envy.

I embrace it within me. I’ll let this jealousy devour me piece by piece, gnawing like a beast with a bone. I’ll feed it parts of me until there’s nothing left but the heart that belongs to her.

Atlas is uncharacteristically gentle with her, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Their bond is a thorn in my chest, pushing deeper with every shared look, every quiet, intimate moment.

He’s like I’ve never seen, patient and kind. He treats her as though she’s his salvation, not mine.

Sick, demonic ideas puncture me.

What if the old Leni was my soulmate?

What if this Leni is his?

“Do you have any memory of what this tattoo represents?” he asks, handing her my sketch of the palace, its sandstone walls curved like they had across her skin.

They sit close. Closer than she allows anyone else, knees brushing.

Atlas’s shirtsleeves are rolled neatly to his elbows and buttoned. Strange, how when he’s calm like this, the dual lines banding his throat shimmer like promises instead of debts.

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