Page 159 of The Mask Falling

Without looking at him, I went up to the apartment. A minute later, he followed.

There was no one else there. In the parlor, I switched on a lamp, which gave just enough warm light for us to see by. A note was folded on the mantelpiece, dated from Thursday the nineteenth. That was yesterday. I read the neat handwriting.

I will try again on Sunday. When you return, stay indoors. I have news for you.

“Paige.”

His voice stilled me. I caught sight of myself in the nearby mirror. Hair curling thickly, wet at the ends. Cheeks flushed by the cold. Eyes dark with want, their pupils bottomless.

“In Versailles, you asked if I still wanted you.”

As I became aware of his silhouette in the mirror, I wondered how I had ever thought that I could stop myself from falling. Just the sight of him made me shiver like a stricken bell.

“Yes,” I said. “I realized how I felt. About you. How I never stopped feeling. And because—” My courage almost failed me. “Because I hoped you might still feel the same way about me.”

There was a furnace in his eyes. We had all but acknowledged it, yet it remained unspoken.

I had denied it for too long. Smothered and stifled it, buried it deep—yet still the song was rising. I had precious little knowledge of desire, but I knew it now. I knew its name.

The shutters were halfway open, letting in the glow of a newly lit streetlamp. It struck a high contrast to the heat of his eyes. We regarded one another in silence.

“Liss read my cards,” I finally said. “The fourth was the Lovers. The Spaewife told me to stay close to that person, to be certain of who it was. And I am.” My throat felt small. “Jaxon tried to make me doubt you. He failed. Now he wants you to doubt yourself. He’s afraid of what we are together. Afraid of what we represent, and everything we could become.”

My skin was too cold and too warm at once. I walked into the light from outside, toward him.

“I called you a coward once. I was a hypocrite,” I said, softer. “I was wrong to break it off with you. I thought it was necessary. That I had to feed every inch of myself to this war to keep it burning.”

My palm found his sturdy chest.

“I know I’m mortal. I know it can’t last,” I said, “but I can’t stop feeling this way. I’ve tried. It’s too strong.” I looked deep into his eyes. “I need you with me. I want us to try.”

“We did try.” He held my gaze. “You need no one, Paige. You saw the sense in our separation before I did.”

“What?”

Under my fingers, his heart was a war drum. Where mine hammered, his was slow, set on its never-ending course.

“I give no credence to the doctrine of flesh-treachery. Too many Rephaim do.” His voice was hardly there. “If what has passed between us was ever proven beyond doubt, your life would forfeit.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I am.” His thumb brushed from my cheek to my temple. “I am afraid.”

I reached up to hold his wrist. “You said your fear wasn’t my cage.”

“But it is mine. This time, I must keep to its bars.” His eyes burned low. “I wanted you, Paige. I still do.”

His affirmation of it sent a chill across my abdomen.

“But to place you in greater danger than you have already faced —to prize that desire above your life—is more than I can justify,” he said. “It was selfish to take you in my arms, knowing what that touch could bring.”

“No.” I touched his face. “That night, in the Guildhall—I felt so afraid, and so alone. And despite everything you had been told to believe about humans, you held me. It showed me who you really were. Someone who would put everything in his world at risk to do the right thing.”

“Everything. And everyone,” he said. “Including you.” He lowered his hand. “If I had cared enough for your life, I would never have held you again.”

I closed my eyes as he walked toward his room. This was not how I thought this night would end.

“I’m not the Mothallath.” My voice snapped the quiet. “You were never duty-bound to guard me.” He stopped. “My life is mine to risk as I choose. I choose to risk being with you.”

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