Page 17 of It's In His Hiss

“It’s just… there’s a lot at stake,” he continues, struggling with the words. “What if I lose control? What if I turn you to stone? I couldn’t bear it.”

The words are meant to reassure me, but they only make me want tobreak the rules he’s so desperate to follow.

I lift a hand, pressing it against his chest, relishing the rapid thrum of his heart beneath my palm. “I trust you.” Tears sting my eyes, and I drop my gaze to the floor.

“Look at me, Al,” Gordy insists, his voice a soft command that sends shivers down my spine.

I lift my gaze to his hypnotic green eyes, emerald pools that could spell my doom if he ever lost control. After a few seconds, his gaze flicks away, always careful not to maintain eye contact for too long.

“I can’t walk away from you, Alice. Your laugh, your spirit, they’ve become essential to me. But if I turned you to stone and couldn’t change you back”—his voice cracks, betraying his usual calm demeanor—“it would destroy me.” He cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and I leaninto his touch. “I’m terrified of what could happen if we let this go any further.”

His meaning is clear, anda thrill shudders through meat the raw honesty in his voice. Hewants this. Wants me.But I need to respect his wishes. For now.

I nod, even though my body screams in protest. “Okay,” I murmur again, licking my lips, watching the way his gazedarkensat the movement. “But to be clear, I’m not going anywhere. So when you’re ready?” I smile, letting my fingers traceone last lingering touchalong his jaw. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, relief and torment intermingling in his gaze.

“Good. That’s settled,” I say brightly as I step back. “Kettle’s boiled.”

My hands shake slightly as I make the tea, the warmth of the mug doing little to chase away the chill now that Gordy is no longer pressed against me.

Behind me, I hear him exhale a deep, shuddering breath like he’s trying to ground himself. His presence is a force in my small apartment, but it’sdifferent now. There’s an ache in the air, a tension that hasn’t dissipated, only shifted into something heavier. Something unspoken.

I hand him his mug, our fingers barely brushing, but it’s enough. The simple touch feels like a spark against my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from reaching for him again.

Gordy watches me for a long moment, his green eyes shadowed with something unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he sets his tea down without taking a sip. “I should go,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

I swallow hard, nodding even though every part of me wants to ask him to stay.

“Yeah. Of course.” I force a small smile. “It’s late.”

But neither of us moves.

Gordy stares at me like he wants to say something else, something that might change things. Instead, he adjusts the knit cap over his snakes as though it’s his shield against temptation. Against me.

His hands linger there for a second before he turns toward the door.

I follow, my stomach twisting as he reaches for the handle. His back is to me, his shoulders tense, and I swear if I breathed wrong, it might be enough to tip the balance of his control.

He hesitates.

Turns his head slightly.

“Al…” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want this.”

I inhale sharply, my grip tightening around my mug. “I know.”

He nods once, a subtle confirmation, before he finally opens the door. A gust of cool air sweeps in, and I shiver, though it has nothing to do with the temperature.

Gordy steps over the threshold, lingering for a moment like he’s fighting some last internal war. Then, before I can say anything, before I can reach out and make a terrible, wonderful mistake, he’s gone—disappearing into the night like a shadow.

The door clicks shut behind him, the soundfar too final.

I exhale, sagging against the wall, inhaling a deep breath to calm my racing heart and douse the heat lingering on my skin. But it doesn’t work.

Because Gordy is everywhere. In my pulse. In the memory of his hands. In the ghost of his kiss that refuses to fade.

I sink onto the couch, hugging a cushion to my chest. My mind races, replaying the confrontation with my parents and their reluctant confession about my hidden abilities. Witches. Powers. It’s all too surreal, like a page ripped from one of the mythology books Gordy loves so much.

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