Page 149 of Creatures that Breathe

Her simple plea nearly shatters me, nearly makes me wish she’d just done it, whipped me into her flames, devoured me alive instead of burning me slowly like this. “I want Atlas.”

My gut clenches. I look down at the sand. Swallow. “Then let’s go get him.”

Anything, no matter how it kills me.

40

Leni

HQ Lima-November-India 2201 Collins Ave, Miami Beach, FL 33139

“Every time he touches me. I get a memory and it’s …”

Eviscerating.

Heartrending.

Tantalizing.

Jet black hair perfectly coiffed, Atlas adjusts the blanket draped across my lap, tucking it neatly at my waist before arranging it to cascade over the edge of the couch. “He never meant to hurt you,” he says as he flattens rises in the chenille.

“I think he did.” The memories are vivid and painful. I know exactly what Cross has done to me, or at least I have a very, very good guess. “I feel his hands grasping me too tight, squeezing, clamping down on me.”

“The curse is powerful, and he fought it ardently for—”

I cut him off. “I feel his teeth, and his mouth. He kisses me and it hurts.”

Atlas gently brushes the hair back from my face. He’s flawless. Ironed and sleek, and he smells like rosemary and cedar, with eyes the color of a deep cold lake, the darkest, stillest blue.

I nibble on the inside of my lip. “I think he might love me.”

A delicate arch of his midnight brow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No.” Yes.

I don’t know.

I busy myself with a cup of tea, watching the steam rise in sweet curls from the calm amber surface. Atlas takes great, near alarming, pleasure in the proper ritual of tea brewing. A two-minute steep of English Breakfast, followed by a swirl of cream, a sugar square, and a sprig of salt for, according to Mr. Meticulous, a hint of complexity.

Tastes like bitter leaf soup to me, but I do enjoy the afternoon interlude from Cross’s intensity, from his piercing stares and the gravitational pull he seems to have on me.

For one hour each day, Atlas and I sip and soak in the ocean vista from the comfort of our porch while the beach slowly empties. It’s relaxing. Rejuvenating.

Plus, okay, the assorted shortbreads Atlas artfully arranges on the saucers are fucking irresistible.

“Why not?” Atlas asks, resting his spoon on the porcelain with a near silent clink.

“Because I’m not her. He loves Leni from before, and I’m not her. I don’t remember anything about her. Or me. Or us. He’s sticking around because he made a vow to protect a female that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Atlas smiles a secret, amused smile. “He does have a rather prudent sense of duty when it comes to you.”

I roll my eyes, as if Atlas isn’t the worst of them all. The entire Blackguard treat me like I’m their own special snowflake. Extra helpings, extra nice, extra threatening when a mortal cuts me in line. “Cross’s sense of duty is keeping me in the dark. He won’t tell me anything about who I was, except that I don’t like white.”

Atlas picks up a strand of my hair as evidence. “You don’t.”

“It’s boring.”

“Perhaps he’s not sharing so you can discover who you are for yourself, without the plague of a deranged prince hunting you and fear for your life?”

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