Page 188 of The Mirror of Beasts

His head slanted over mine, and nothing else existed beyond that kiss—the desperation of it devoured everything other than the sensation of his body pressing against mine. He kissed as if he’d been starved for my touch, as if he could feel my own soul stirring with the joy of being near his again.

For all the changes of his new body, for the brightness that had returned to his eyes, this was the same. The firm, soft press of his mouth against mine, that thrilling push and pull between us. I could feel it then, the way our fates were weaving together again.

I bumped back into the table, sending the cards scattering to the floor. The kiss slowed, deepened, as if he was luxuriating in it. His fingers curled in the loose strands of my hair, cradling my head like I was a sacred treasure.

I needed to feel more of him—I needed the reassurance that this wasn’t some cruel dream that could be torn away from me again. My hands skimmed over his chest, until they found the beautiful sensation of his heart racing beneath his skin.

Only then did I pull away, my lungs burning for the air that suddenly felt secondary to everything but him. I looked up to find him watching me in return. There were no shadows in his eyes now. No secrets left between us.

“Let’s go home,” I told him, breathless.

He smiled, pressing his cheek to mine, and nodded.

As I switched off the candles and gathered the cards back up for the next day’s shift, he retrieved my coat from its peg on the wall. I let him think he was stealing another kiss as he helped me into it. I’d been late leaving the apartment that morning and had forgotten my gloves, but I no longer needed them, not with his warm hand closed around mine.

It was still light out as we made our way into the bustle of the city—one of the many gifts of spring. Beneath my feet, all around me, life was waiting to be reborn. To rise from the cold depths of winter’s death.

And for the first time, so was I.

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