Page 47 of The Alien in the Archive

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. My hand moves to her face, my palm cradling her cheek as I tilt her head up to meet mine fully. My other hand finds the small of her back, pulling her flush against me.

Gods, she feels so good, too good.

Page gasps softly, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

I do as she asked.

Her lips part, and her breath hitches—a sound that fills me like fire, warming my cold heart. I don’t let her take the lead, though; she would move faster than I want, faster than she deserves. I keep it slow, deliberate, savoring every moment. Her mouth moves against mine, eager and insistent, but I resist the urge to deepen the kiss too quickly. If I give in, I’ll lose what little control I have left.

She makes a sound—soft, needy, almost obscene—and it undoes me.

My thumb brushes her jaw as I angle her closer, her warmth sinking into me. She tugs on my shirt, her desperation for more pulling me deeper into her orbit.

I force myself to stop, gasping for breath.

Her lips are slightly swollen, eyes more silver than ever, her cheeks flushed with color. The thought feels alien when it comes to mind, but I can’t deny it—she needs to be fucked, claimed.

I take a step back.

Page looks a little disappointed at first…but then she flushes bright red, and shesmiles. This is a new kind of smile—shy, sweet—and I caused it.

My skin…it’s warm.

Warm for the first time in centuries.

“Good night, Page,” I murmur.

She bites her lip, and it almost makes me pull her back in. “Good night, Thorne.”

The smile lingers as she backs away, and I keep my eyes on her as she goes. She doesn’t stop smiling, even when she turns and walks into the archive proper, toward the gate.

I watch until she’s well out of sight, my chest tightening with every step she takes.

Because one thing is certain: Page isn’t the only one who’s fallen.

18

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Ineed a distraction.

After what happened last night—and the night before that—my thoughts are a mess, and I don’t trust myself to be alone in the Obscuary with Thorne right now. Not after the kiss. Not after the way he looked at me when he pulled back, like he wanted to stay but couldn’t let himself.

No…we need a minute to cool down.

And I need a minute to figure out how to convince him not to just let himself die.

So, I redirect my energy into something I can control: research.

Thorne said my sex dreams were about me, not him—that I was having fantasies and he was just a casual observer—but I know better. There’s something between us, something undeniable, and if I don’t figure out how to handle it, it’ll consume me. But more than that…

I can’t stop thinking about what he told me—that he’s dying. That his lifespan is finite unless he drinks Elixir. Thathe’s resigned himself to wasting away in the Obscuary because he won’t let himself take what he needs.

There has to be another way.

Thorne isn’t like anyone else; he’s Borean, a species that kept their secrets close, so much that even the Obscuary barely scratches the surface of their mysteries. If anyone has rituals that could help him, it would be his own people. But I have no idea what those rituals might involve, or if they even exist anymore.

I follow the thread, thinking about it while I’m in the shower, while I’m lying in bed at night, thoughts racing. I’m good at this; I find creative places to seek out new information, it’s what I do. I can figure this out, too.

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