Page 76 of The Crow Games

Then finally I met her. I met the one who is like me, and beauty now has a whole new meaning. A new face.

I read the last line again and again and again, then I crushed the paper to my chest and fell back on my bed. Head on the pillow, I closed my eyes tight and let his words renew my spirit until my heart was so full I thought it might burst.

I hadn’t realized . . .

But how could I have seen the change in him when I was constantly stuck in my own grief? It was good that he had stopped me earlier. I was reaching for him for a comfort that would mean something very different to me than it did to him.

And that made me feel lighter and a little panicked all at the same time. Anything more than that there just wasn’t room for within me. My mind was as stormy and uncertain as the weather brewing outside.

I climbed to my feet on legs that trembled. My stomach tremored as I slid open my door and padded to the front of his, fist up and ready to knock. Nerves froze me to the spot.

What was I going to say?

My knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound amplified by the thunder outside. I jumped when his door opened so quickly he had to have been standing on the other side of it this whole time.

“I saw your light come on,” he explained.

I held up the folded bit of paper, and he stepped aside, letting me in. His lantern was turned down, casting him in a citrine glow that glittered in his silvery hair, highlighting all the things about him that were celestial and lovely. His shadows circled my feet. Tendrils of darkness swiped timidly at my toes in my new indigo socks, the magic more cautious with me than it usually was.

He shut the door.

“I’m not a poet,” I warned him. “Even if I practiced for centuries, I’d never be able to tell you as eloquently as you have that you’ve come to mean something more to me. And no one is more shocked about that than I. Something so lovely shouldn’t be possible in a place like the Otherworld.” I wrung my fingers together, studying the backs of my hands to hide my eyes for a breath or two. Then for a third. Then a fourth . . . “I don’t even know how to do this anymore. You were right before. The timing is—”

“—terrible. I know.” His chortle lacked mirth.

I stole a step closer to him, pleased when he didn’t retreat from me. “But I’m glad you told me,” I said in a rush. “I needed to know. Otherwise, I would have . . .” My laugh was breathy and uncertain. “I’m not sure exactly, but it wouldn’t have been fair to take comfort from you in that way. I’m a weepy mess half the time, and the other half of the time I’m too wrathful to see straight. There isn’t room between the two for anything else just now. So . . .”

One snowy brow lifted. “So?”

“So, I think I’ll just say . . .” Every word that sprang to mind sounded trite and silly. “Actually, no.”

He frowned. “No?”

I came up on my toes and kissed him instead, a quick decisive peck. His lips quirked against mine, understanding dawning to melt that frown away.

“Thank you for thinking sweet things about me, and I’m sorry,” I whispered, our lips so close I could kiss him again, but I didn’t dare. I felt trapped there by his presence, his warmth, the weight of his bottomless gaze. I couldn’t move. I was at the brink of a precipice and teetering. One harsh gust of wind could blow me over.

We shared a long breath.

“What if I wanted to be your comfort?” he said.

My stomach dropped, then it fluttered. I wanted to reach for him, but I wound my fingers in the bottom of my shirtwaist instead. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. That did it. I toppled off the precipice. Helpless to resist, I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my fingers in his silken hair.

I would never be as eloquent, but I could show him what he’d come to mean to me. Even if I was out of practice, I’d gladly learn about such things again with him now. Kissing him was a renewal all its own. A well of replenishment.

My comfort.

His lips were warm, and he tasted like crisp summer sunlight, a compelling contrast to the comfortably cool brush of his shadows down my back. His magic remained light on my skin while his hands were heavy and hot, skimming down my arms, cupping my hips. He explored me in lazy strokes. Never in a hurry.

I wanted to get rid of the hole in his waistcoat. I wanted not to have ever hurt him in the first place, but this was as close as I could get. I unbuttoned the leather and helped him shoulder out of it. He let out a small breath when I kissed his smooth jaw, another when I pressed my mouth to his chin, and the dip of his throat where it met his shoulder. Those sweet sounds shot through me and spurred me on.

I hoped he felt my gratitude in every touch, affection in each kiss. I helped him out of his shirt, and I kissed the round scar I’d put right over his heart.

Reapers did in fact have one. I felt it leap under my lips. My kiss lingered there against his smooth flesh.

And then the careful patience I was so familiar with vanished. Asher lifted me in his arms and pinned me against the wall with his body. He consumed me with slow burning kisses, easing his weight between my thighs.

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