Page 86 of Wrath

“Are you smelling me, Masters? Oh I forgot, you don’t like to be called Masters. Ez.”

“Ez,” he rasps.

I nod. I put my hand over his, even as sweat prickles my body.

His hand below mine doesn’t move. I think he’s quit breathing.

“I like your hands,” I tell him. God, my heart is beating so hard.

“You do?”

“Yeah. They’re nice.” I clasp my hand around his wrist.

His hand tries to grasp mine. I can’t help laughing softly. Iput my hand over his and thread my fingers through his, squeezing for a second.

“Never jump,” I whisper.

“Never fall.” His lips brush my back.

He hugs me tight, wrapping himself around me. “You gotta be careful, Millsy. Don’t come here without me.”

I let my head hang, shutting my eyes just to feel him. I want to see him, to touch him more, but I can’t turn around on top of the wall.

His lips brush my back through my shirt. “Smells like you,” he whispers.

“Makes sense.” I smile.

He presses his face to my nape. I can feel his ribcage expand against my back.

He lifts the weight of his head off my back, and with one hand still snugly around my waist, he scrawls something on my side.

“D…G…D…G.” And then: “GOOD.”

He straightens up and draws himself away from me. His arm, around my waist, loosens, his hand curling. I can feel him take a deep breath. Then another one.

I murmur, “Hang on.”

Then I shift onto my knees, holding onto the top of the wall as I dangle my legs off on the cemetery side. I hear Ezra’s murmur, but I don’t look up at him; I need to focus. It’s a little harder than I thought it would be, because my muscles are still sapped, but I pull myself back up, climbing up onto the wall so that I’m facing him.

He looks amused—and confused. Fuck, he’s so close. Right in front of me. My cheeks sting with heat as I’m consumed by a near-crushing wave of shyness. I swallow, and his lips quirk as he reaches out to touch…a leaf on my shirt. He picks it off and holds it in his palm. It’s star-shaped. He looks at it for a long moment before his eyes return to mine.

There’s nothing on his face. His eyes aren’t hard or soft. It’s like they’re seeking something—from me.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a low rasp.

I swallow, but when I try to speak, it’s just a whisper. “Looking at you.”

His mouth twitches again, but it’s a sad thing. Not a smile. “What do you see?” His nostrils flare a little, his eyes round on my eyes.

Sweat prickles around my hairline, and my heart starts to pound. The trees bend around us, as if we’re underneath a blanket. His shoulders rise as he breathes deeply again.

I reach out. My hand cups his throat.

“Ezra,” I whisper. My fingers move to where I know I’ll feel his pulse—the jugular. His eyes close and his head tips back a little, giving it to me. If I were a vampire, I would strike right now and drain him dry.

As it is, I trail my fingertips over his smooth throat, feeling the gentle ridge of his Adam’s apple. Warm skin. So soft. Just when I start to doubt it, start to wonder if he likes this, he starts breathing faster. Shallow.

I put my left hand on his shoulder, look at his closed eyes, and ask them to open. And they do. Somehow, he hears me.

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