Page 162 of The Mask Falling

“Humor me.” He held my gaze. “Last time you were intimate with someone else, it caused you pain. You told him it did not matter. Urged him to continue.”

The memory pierced me for the first time in months. The hollowness and fear of it.

“I wasn’t thinking straight that night,” I said, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t think I . . . feel that way unless there’s already a connection. Like ours.” I covered the hand on my waist with one of mine. “And it was different with an amaurotic. As if he couldn’t reach all of me.”

“Even so.” He lowered his lips back to mine for a lingering moment. “We may both have auras, but you are not a Rephaite. If I do anything to disquiet you, I would like to know.”

“Mm. So long as you’ll tell me if I do anything to disquiet you.”

“You have my word.”

A siren called outside the cracked-open window, and a slurred voice shouted in French. I couldn’t tense at those sounds, as I often did. Not with him gently exploring my hair, as if he was contemplating how to untangle it.

“I have resented my gift,” he said, “for it does not let me forget.” He drew my hair to one side of my neck and kissed the atlas of my nape. “I could not forget the room where I was scarred.” I hooked my fingertips between his knuckles. “Yet neither can I forget this room.”

He stroked down my abdomen. I half closed my eyes as he circled my navel—the tiny hollow that marked me as human as surely as his eyes marked him as Rephaite. All the while, I willed him not to stop.

We fell silent for a while, immersed in the possibilities of touch. He kissed my jaw, my shoulder. I tilted my head back. As my hand strayed along his side, I felt the very tips of the scars.

“Will you let me see them?” I asked him softly. When he looked away, I held his face. “It’s all right if not. I just . . . don’t want you to feel as if you have to hide them, either.”

After a small eternity, he turned onto his side, so I could see the broad span of his back. I sat up slowly to look.

There were more than I had wanted to imagine. His back was an iron trellis of scars. The larger ones were raised welts, as thick as my little finger, while the smaller ones were hairline threads across his shoulders, like cracks in glass, that spoke of slow, meticulous cruelty. How he had restrained himself from shooting Jaxon, or kept up his façade of loyalty to Nashira after she had inflicted this on him, I could only guess.

He was still as I traced each scar. They were smooth as wax. It took him some time to relax into my exploration, but when he did, he was as heavy as if he was sleeping. When I had touched each one, I slung my arm around his waist and embraced him from behind.

“You will not be comfortable there for long,” he said.

The scars did feel strange against my bare skin, but I pressed my cheek to them. “Hush. I’m asleep.”

“Hm.”

****

We both drifted off for a while. When I stirred, we were bathed in moonlight, and we had somehow traded positions, my back to his chest again. The crook of his right arm cupped my elbow. I held his left hand between both of mine, fingers intertwined. His face was tucked into my neck.

If you do not come back within the sennight, I will find another way to escape this place. I breathed in hard when I remembered, tightening my chest.I will hunt you, Paige Mahoney.

When I coughed, Arcturus opened his eyes. His scarred fingers skimmed my arm.

“I broke my word to Kornephoros,” I murmured. “It’s been more than a week.”

“If he comes for you, we will deal with him.”

There would be consequences foreverything that had happened. What remained to be seen was just how many.

“You feared that caring for me would distract you from the revolution. It can be otherwise.” His voice was almost too low to hear. “We will end the gray market. We will unite the syndicates. All will be well.”

With a nod, I turned to face him, and he traced down to the base of my spine. I rested my head on his chest.

“I know,” I whispered. “I believe you.”

****

The sky held a gray inkling of dawn when I woke a second time. Arcturus was silent beside me, his palm over the dressing on my back, as if he had meant to protect it. He had not slept once while I lay fevered. Now he had withdrawn into a deep slumber, turning him into a statue.

I curled an arm around his neck and tucked my head under his chin. He was still here. Both of us were still here. A long beat passed before I snapped upright with a jolt, realizing what had woken me.

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