Page 56 of Silent Lucidity

Before she could reply, he pressed his lips over hers, pouring all the fire raging within him into the kiss.

Eleven

Tenthil stared up at the ceiling as he trailed the tips of his claws up and down Abella’s back, following the graceful line of her spine. She lay atop him, resting her cheek on his chest, and her warmth flowed into him freely. Like so many of his experiences with her, this was new. He’d never been held with affection, had never been comfortable enough with anyone—much less felt the urge—to lay with them, defenses lowered. Silence had stretched between them, but he found this silence comforting. It was companionable, natural, a suitable response to what they’d shared; though many words could be said about it, none were necessary.

Abella stirred, sliding her hand along his shoulder. “Abella isn’t my full name.”

He tilted his head slightly to glance down at the top of her hair. Her confession intrigued him not because it was another secret to hoard, but becauseshewas choosing to share with him. This was a secret given, not a secret taken.

“What is your full name?”

“Isabella. Well, technically Isabella Diane Mitchell.” She curled her fingers around his shoulder and brushed her thumb back and forth across his skin. “When I was born, my parents said one of my older brothers had trouble saying my name.Abellawas the best he could manage. It just kind of stuck, and that’s what everyone’s called me since then. Well, unless I did something bad, then my mom would use my full name so IknewI was in trouble.”

Her wistful tone made it clear that she missed her family. Tenthil’s mind flashed back briefly to his own childhood, so far away and clouded by time. He couldn’t remember if he’d missed his family; he’d been taken too long ago. “Which do you prefer?”

“I’m fine with Abella. It’s who I’ve always been.”

He nodded and shifted his gaze back to the ceiling. Though he’d never been to this safehouse before coming with Abella, it was already more a home to him than the temple had ever been. “The Master gave me my name.”

Abella raised her head and looked at him. Her hair fell around her head in disarray, its soft, dangling strands tickling his chest.

Tenthil swallowed, throat suddenly tight. He’d never considered his thoughts concerning his past either at great length or with great depth; the initial flare of anger he usually felt when his mind turned to what had been taken from him, about the life he’d lost by no fault of his own, had been enough.

But thanks to Abella, he now understood that anger was not his only emotional response to what had been stolen from him.

“I remember little of my people,” he said, the lump in his throat thickening, “but I know males were not granted names until they proved themselves capable hunters. I was too young to have done so when I was taken.”

“And Tenthil was the name he chose for you?” Abella asked.

“He said it was the name the Void whispered to him.”

She frowned. “The Void?”

He nodded. He’d told her enough already to earn himself a place at the bottom of the Well of Secrets; why stop now? “It is the entity to which the Order is dedicated. The nothingness between the stars. It is said to touch everything, to know everything…to be the ultimate keeper of secrets.”

“So…some kind of god, or a higher power. Do you believe in it?”

“When I was young.” He pressed his hand a little more firmly on her back, massaging the muscle beneath it. “But I have seen the true powers in the universe. I know where his secrets come from, and it is not the Void. He is arrogant, or mad. Both.”

Abella moved her hand to his face, lightly tracing one of his scars with her thumb. “I think you’ve proved yourself a capable hunter by now, don’t you? What name would you pick for yourself?”

He shifted his gaze to stare into her entrancing green eyes.

I can be whoever I choose.

The thought had never occurred to him, despite his rebellious nature, despite his resistance to the system into which he’d been thrust—hecould define himself.

He lifted a hand and settled it on her cheek. “Tenthil. It became my own once it came from your lips.”

Her cheeks reddened, and she ducked her head down. He could feel her smile against his chest. “Tenthil it is then.”

Silence stretched between them again, and Tenthil closed his eyes, content to hold her close, to feel her body against his.

“What else do you remember from your home?” Abella asked.

He closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. “Not much. More people like me. Grass stretching on and on, broken only by a river and a nearby forest. The trees had green and violet leaves. I remember…singing. Dancing. But not like yours.”

“What kind of dancing was it?”

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