Page 103 of The Blood we Crave

For the first time, I’m not asking myself what is inside Thatcher’s mind or curious about what he is thinking. For the first time, I just…know.

Like the lyrics are telling me everything I need to hear. As if he is speaking through the cords and notes. Drawing me in so I know exactly what he is feeling.

I can feel it in my bones. The pain that lives inside of him, the sorrow that exists deep in his bones that no one else can see. It’s right there in front of my eyes, tickling my ears.

I’ve been watching him forever, but I think this is what seeing him really feels like.

The grief and sadness thrumming straight through the thread that binds my soul to his. Gods, my poor heart, she is crying for him. Weeping as he plays note after note of somber music.

It’s the purest form of music.

True communication, like I’ve never experienced before.

When the song tumbles to a graceful end, only his breathing fills the room. His eyes remaining closed for only a second more, before he opens them to look straight at me.

I’ve gotten caught staring, my mouth speaking before I can do anything about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I knew you were there already,” he interrupts, standing from the bench. “No need to apologize for snooping when I was aware of my audience.”

“Thatcher I knew you played, but,” My eyebrows furry together. “That was incredible. Could tour the world playing for people, incredible. Bring the world to tears, in—”

“The world doesn’t need another musician.”

I step from behind the bathroom door, greeted by the cold temperature of his room. Fuck, I’m in a towel. Wait, he’s already seen me naked, so it’s not like it matters, right?

“Then how about just one of you? Don’t you think the world needs that?”

The look he gives me is dry, like there is nothing going on behind his eyes. Telling me his answer before he even speaks a word.

“I think you know the answer to that, Lyra.” His graceful legs carry him to the bed, scooping up the pile of clothes. “Are you going to get dressed? Or do you prefer a towel?”

Everything he says makes me squirm. Turns the tops of my cheeks red, like my body has no clue what to do when he speaks except flood with embarrassment and arousal.

It’s eternally frustrating.

My damp feet squeak across the shiny marble floors, the only noise between the two of us as I make my way in his direction. I can’t prevent my eyes from taking him in now that he’s standing.

It’s so difficult being in the same room with someone who is so…flawless. Even when he is so unfixed. Hair still a little wet, pieces falling in his eyes. Eyes like the coolest Alaskan waters, somehow I know they are rare. His dress shirt exposes the smooth lines and ridges of his toned stomach, with every breath the flex, hardening beneath my gaze. Those little valleys on either side of his hips that trail dangerously into the waist band of his pants—Wait.

“Is that a tattoo?” I ask, my eyes squinting, forgetting about the clothes in his hands, standing almost an arm’s length away. “You have a tattoo?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I’m above the legal age to have a tattoo, the guys are covered in them.”

“Yeah but it’s you. Mister Do Not Touch Me. Must be clean all the time, wears gloves to murder people. You don’t do tattoos.”

The circular ink hides just along his upper rib cage. A detailed design of a coin. Charon’s obol, the same piece of currency he’d once left on my mother’s eyes. The same one Silas has on his wrist.

“You got it done with the guys? You all have one?”

Another piece of his puzzle, closer and closer to the man no one can figure out. But just as he always does when one gets too close, he cuts. A viper striking.

One step forward and ten steps back. Always.

“Do you want the clothes or not?” His voice is harsh, not unlike his normal tone, but the coldest he has been since he found me tonight.

I remove my eyes from the tattoo, lifting my gaze to his. My hands reach for the items in his hands. I feel the fabric between my fingers smiling quietly.

The soft, plush material beneath my touch is hard to mistake.

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