Page 51 of Lessons with the Mothman

"Do you want me to be careful? I have ways to block the scent glands that?—"

"No," I breathed out, shaking my head, brushing my cheeks against his dense, velvety hair. "I don't care. I want—I want to be out of my mind with wanting you."

Elias moaned and his hand flew up, fisting my curls and drawing my mouth down to his. I groaned and parted for him, sucking on his tongue, throwing one of my legs to sit and grind on his thigh, heat and ache and a lightning thrill jolting up my spine as we kissed.

I'd told my therapist once that around the time of the affair, I'd felt like I was on the brink of exploding, that I'd been searching for a spark or a match to set my whole world on fire. The reality of the breakup with Brett was quiet, although it had left an impressive wreckage for me to sort through for at least a year after. And that feeling of barely contained energy, dangerous potential vibrating inside of me, had passed with every week.

It was back now. I didn't know if I was racing toward another reckoning, another collapse of my life…

Or another metamorphosis.

I pausedinside the entrance of the bar, taking in the heavy, dark wallpaper, lush greenery, and excess of patterns. Spanish funk music played over the stereos, just loud enough for the beat to be warm and inviting. It was fairly early still, and there was only one woman sitting on the brief barstool. Waiting for me.

Initially, when Emma had suggested drinks—with an actual confirmed date and time for once—I'd been tempted to offer up Nightlight as a location. After the other night and the agreement between me and Elias about his mating season, I was relieved to do this elsewhere. It would be too nerve-wracking to talk to my sister properly for the first time in over a year, with my new…whatever Elias was watching over us.

Emma waved shyly, and I hurried to join her, scanning the back of the bar, noting a few labels Elias carried but plenty of others he didn't bother with. His bar had more in-house recipes anyway.

Quit thinking about him, my thoughts snapped.

Emma was standing, and I realized too late she was reaching for a hug. The gesture stuttered as I gaped, and then we both tried again, awkward laughter adding sad punctuation to how estranged we'd managed to become.

But she felt familiar in my arms, a little taller than me, and she leaned in the way she had when we'd been close, bending and hunching to tuck her chin over my shoulder as I rose up on my tiptoes. I squeezed her tighter before she could pull away.

"I've missed you," I said, then released her, blinking rapidly at the burn in my eyes.

"I've missed you too," Emma said, breathless and keeping her face turned away as she climbed back up onto the barstool.

It took us too long to settle, passing minutes by examining the cocktail menu, asking harmless questions about her work or my study, stirring our drinks and making innocuous observations about the weather or Chicago traffic.

Finally, after a quarter of an hour, Emma took a sharp, deep breath, and I braced myself against the bar top, waiting for her to land the punch.

"We set a date."

I exhaled in a rush, a smile rising easily on my lips. "Congratulations!"

Her eyes were wide, flicking in my direction. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, relaxing back slightly and sipping on my drink. It tasted good, and I'd taken a photo of the list of ingredients to show to Elias. He could make it better.

"You have a venue?"

"The Rookery."

I nodded, smiling. My mother had pushed for a wedding at the La Salle Library, our families both being deeply loyal to the idea of a classic Chicago venue.

"I asked to elope to Paris," Emma whispered, laughing.

"Do both," I suggested, nudging my shoulder to hers. "Just don't tell Mom and Kathy. It'll take the pressure off for the big event. What's the date?"

"March third."

"So soon!"

She huffed and nodded, and I wondered if I imagined the spark of panic in her eyes. "A cancellation popped up, and we were next on the waiting list."

"Well, that's amazing!"

Emma's smile wobbled as she turned to me, eyes welling and glittering with the reflection of the hanging colored lanterns above us. "I don't think I can do this."

I froze in my seat. Oh, god. Poor Brett. Not once, but twice. And by sisters?

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