Page 152 of Creatures that Breathe

Deciding to never in a million years tell Atlas he was right, I fade backward from the bar and into the pulsing light of the club.

Then I focus.

Concentrate on the areas mortals seem to avoid, places where the air is warm and soft, like a gentle caress against my skin, urging me along.

There.

Painting on a triumphant grin, I head straight for the center of the room. His arms are crossed, chin notched down to follow my approach. As soon as I’m close enough for his heat to glaze me, he smirks. “I told you to find a dance partner.”

This is my least favorite part of our dates.

Cross telling me to try out other people, asking me if I’m interested in other males, leaving me alone in a room with Sin or Atlas, thinking I’m going to be charmed.

“And I told you I don’t want to dance with anybody else.” I lock my fingers over his chest, soaking in the warm strength and the steady thrum of his pulse. “But if you’re offering …”

His big hands cradle my hips instantly, swaying us together. “I’d be so lucky.”

I like this. Being at his mercy. Occupying his possession.

“Do you ever think you’re just in love with a memory?” I ask.

He’s unphased by my question. “No.”

No?

I do. Constantly.

I’m so in love with him in my memory. Every fleeting touch, every heated stare. And more than that, I’m in love with this male, here and now, who’s clearly in love with me, and only wants what I want, who’s bending over backward to give me a lifetime of experiences as quick as he can.

Having two different loves for the same male, having two entire lives of love, it chafes. Makes my heart too big for my chest, presses down on my lungs, and kicks at my ribs. I can never fully breathe.

I killed myself to save him.

Atlas told me, sat me down, explained it because Cross couldn’t get the words out.

And I would die again for this male. I’d do more, I’d kill for him.

I tamp down the runaway brain, and smile easy breezy at him. “I just want you. I’m always just looking for you.”

“How do you do it, Leni?” he asks, dark voice slipping into hollow pockets of the blaring music. The air is saturated with the scent of sunscreen and anticipation. “No one else can, but you do.”

“It’s easy. I can feel you.” I shut my eyes to let his trademark warmth envelop me, like the tender morning rays of the sun seeping into me, toasting my insides. “You feel like a private beach, warm and serene.”

“The beach,” he remarks softly, strong hand sliding around to the small of my back and splaying.

“And you smell.”

A low chuckle. “I smell?”

“Mhm,” I put my cheek on his chest, right over his slow, solid heartbeat. “You smell like those oranges you’re always eating. Oranges without the tang, no sour, just sweet.”

“Clementines.”

“Yes, those,” I confirm. “Honestly, you stick out like a sore thumb to me. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long. Mortal’s luck?”

“Luck,” he repeats wryly, nose brushing over the shell of my ear. I say his name, whisper it and he shudders with a deep, soul crushing groan, shuts his eyes for a beat, clenches me to him.

Stops. Draws away from me. Lets go. The dancing stops, the closeness.

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