Page 143 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Chloe got us all burner phones,” he says, dusting off his hands and meandering over to the couch. “So we can coordinate at least a little without being in the same room, and Axel talked her through making them impervious to dead zone runes.”

“Well, at least they’re willing to do that,” Delina says, and he hands her a brand-new phone, the plastic cling still on the front. “I take it I can’t text my dad?”

“No, but you can text your cousin if you really feel like it,” he says, poking at a phone of his own. “Gurlien says the smallest shift will be there on Sunday night.”

Delina has to check her phone to even see what day it actually is, between the travel and the driving. “Three days.”

Maison sits down, hard, on the couch, and the couch has a dip in it, as if someone slept there many times. “Three days.” He rubs his face, before looking up at her, almost beseechingly. “I have to wait for three days of this.”

“Beats three days of driving,” Delina says, then stands in front of him, resting her arms on his shoulders, and he tilts his eyes up to her. “We’ll get through this.”

“Three days of planning and three days of trying really hard to not get spotted in a city that almost certainly would recognize me on sight,” Maison says, but he lets the phone fall to his side, an arm grazing down along her back, to her still bare legs. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Absolutely,” Delina replies, and he cracks a smile, just barely, and she yearns for more of the smile, more of anything to keep him looking at her like that. “Right now, right this moment, is there anything you can do about this?”

He shakes his head, and she winds her hand through his soft brown hair, and his eyes slip shut at her touch.

“Right now, is there anything you personally need to be planning for?”

Again, he shakes his head, slow, like he’s spellbound by her. “I could be better preparing you,” he whispers, as if someone could overhear them. “You still know so little.”

She twists her hands in his hair, a little tighter, and he follows the motion.

“I’m not insulting you, I want…” he sighs, letting his hands grip the back of her thighs, completely at odds with his words. “You’re beautiful, you’re powerful, and you’re entirely unskilled right now and it terrifies me.”

“Are any threats going to walk through that door?” Delina asks, before a thought occurs to her. “Our entire relationship, I just thought you had anxiety, but it was this sort of thing, wasn’t it?”

He nods again. “It’s not anxiety.”

“True,” Delina says, gentling her grip and trailing her hand on his neck, across his jaw, tilting his face up to her. “Just me putting things together.”

His lips open, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What I’m saying is, we can try to relax in these little moments,” Delina says, and his stubble along his jaw is almost a full beard, more than he’s had any time she’s known him, a pleasant scratch against her palm. “You won’t be the most useful if you worry yourself sick.”

He briefly shuts his eyes, then tugs on the back of her thighs until she falls forward, straddling him.

“You’re making it awfully difficult to focus on it, Delly girl,” he says, voice low, and she grins at him, impulsive.

“That’s the idea,” she replies, and his dimple briefly appears, before he grips her chin back and kisses her.

Kisses her like there’s nothing else in the world, like there’s no one else outside the walls of the condo. Like there’s no badnews, nothing to worry about, no insane magic powers and dire things to break into, nothing.

She opens her mouth to him, and he sighs, deep in his chest, pulling her closer, gripping her thighs tight.

It’s precarious, his touch on her skin, with everything still wrong in the world. Where she’s not sure if they’ll live through the next few days, where he’s frightened about not being able to rescue his mother.

But there’s the fire again, the spark between them, the same thrill of danger on his lips and openness in his hands.

“What do you want me to do,” he mumbles against her lips, before tilting her head away and kissing down her neck, across her collarbone. “Tell me what to do and I will do it.”

It’s a little like a vow.

So she pulls the pajama shirt over her head, and he immediately presses a kiss between her breast, like he could kiss his way into her heart.

After getting dressedand snagging one of the muffins, Delina curls her legs underneath her on the couch, tucking herself next to Maison.

His breathing is more settled, thankfully, but he throws his arm around her shoulders, as if he could keep her safe just by sheer force of will.

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