Page 53 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
It sounded poetic.
It also sounded like someone had died trying to do exactly what she was doing now.
“Get a grip,” she muttered.
She shoved the journal deep into the desk. As if that might bury the words with it.
Back in the living room, she threw herself onto the couch and stared at the ceiling.
The ache was still there. Not just in her skin now, but in her breath. Her blood.
She remembered the way he’d looked at her. Like he already saw the ending and was afraid to tell her.
And then he’d left. No explanation. No contact. Just the desert, and that taste of something more.
If this was part of some ancient rite of transformation, it could stand to be a little less emotionally manipulative.
***
She saw him just after sundown.
He was standing at the edge of the yard again. Far enough to look like hesitation. Close enough to feel like want.
Nora didn’t hesitate.
She walked toward him barefoot, barely aware of the dry grass scratching her ankles. The obsidian in her pocket pulsed like a second heartbeat.
The air between them shifted.
His chest rose and fell with effort, like he’d been running for miles and had only just stopped.
She looked up at him, all bark-textured muscle and glowing edges, and something low in her belly twisted.
“You came back,” she said.
His jaw worked. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide.
“Didn’t mean to,” he rasped.
She blinked. He’d spoken very little before. Rough. Shallow.
This was deeper. Closer.
Like he was remembering how to be human again.
Her chest tightened. “You think that’s comforting?”
He moved.
Fast. Sudden, like a storm breaking its own stillness.
One barked hand cradled her cheek, the other pressed to her back as he pulled her hard against him.
She gasped at the feel of him, solid and searing and desperate.
His mouth found her neck, breath hot and uneven.
“I tried,” he growled into her skin. “Tried to stay buried. Stay bark. Stay gone. But you called me. And now I burn.”
