Page 57 of Lux

It’s my fault. He took his eyes off me, and chaos erupted. He took his eyes off me, and I was shoved and pushed along with a crowd and taken by vultures.

He took his eyes off me. For what reason?

He doesn’t say. I wait for an answer. Seconds pass before I realize he has no intention of providing me with one.

Because I am not worth an answer.

No…

Because he is hesitating to give me one, the real one. Uncertainty on him is a glimpse of heaven. It peeks through those red eyes like a ray of sun piercing through a storm cloud. Just for a moment. Just one.

Still, I will treasure the sight for the rest of my life. He didn’t leave me on purpose. He was compelled to. By what?

“Tell me,” I ask. Demand. My voice is pleading and soft.

Still…

He takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth. He presses his lips there, to the fragile skin. He inhales my scent and then raises those beautiful, sinful eyes to mine again.

“I saw paintings,” he admits in a rasp. “In the museum. They were in a forgotten room. They made me feel…angry.” He hates this. Admitting things to me out in the open. Revealing that he is more than a monster driven by his master’s orders and blood. He saw a painting too. Enough to become distracted by it. He saw something in the artwork, just like I do.

My heart sings!

Until he frowns. Until a desperate, confused pain flits across his face, and I am confounded. Whatever he found, whatever he saw, it didn’t set him free or inspire happy, wondrous thoughts. It terrified him, my Caspian.

It puzzles him still.

“Oh.” I reach out for him, and he leans in close, letting me hold him and comfort him. Soon, I am the one seeking comfort from him, pressing my face against this chest, and inhaling deeply. I was angry at him, I realize that now. Angry and bitter and tormented by him leaving me.

But now I know the reason. The truth.

That space inside my heart doesn’t sting anymore. I feel whole again. Whole and safe and wanted by him. It is a delicious, most dangerous feeling. I curl into him and savor it. I bask in it.

And I feel him bask in me.

Our thoughts mingle again. Hesitant and cautious. One of us pulled away from the other, though I’m unsure who or why. It happened in the museum. Perhaps when he saw the paintings that distracted him so, and the chaos that happened after startled me. We were apart, then…

I am quickly realizing that I don’t like being apart. He is not like my Day, my dear one, my brother in blood. I could tolerate his absences. Bask in his fleeting attention. Even when he hurt me, I would have accepted another visit from him again.

With Caspian, there is no option. No feeling. No cautious want.

I need him like I need air to breathe. Without him, I suffocate. I can survive but suffocate. It hurts to breathe without him there. It hurts to think and talk and act normally.

Unless I am flying…

“You flew.” His confusion is marked by the curious, gentle way he prods into my thoughts. So gentle he is, always. I sigh and lean into his touch, both physical and mental.

“I flew,” I tell him. “With paper wings and silk. It was wondrous. Wonderful.”

I may never get to do so again.

“I can make you fly,” Caspian says. He means so in a crude way. In a sexual, deviant, naughty way.

I don’t care.

His promise is music to my ears. With him, I can fly, somehow. Anyway, I’ll take it.

I press my mouth to his jaw. I linger there, feeling the muscle flex against me. He is discomforted by this, nearness. Yet, a part of him is unsure whether he likes it or not. Whether he needs more or not.

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