Page 96 of Antiletum
“Sorry!” Delaney called, not truly sorry at all, and never slowing her race.
Daring to look over her shoulder, she found Tenna undeterred, though moving much slower than herself. Panic took hold; Delaney threw caution to the wind, grabbing the arm of the next person she bumped into who, luck would have it, appeared around her age.
“Hide me,” she gasped, already out of breath.
A tall person with midnight hair and midnight eyes looked down on her severely.
She nearly staggered at the intensity of his odd black eyes, immaculate dark brows drawing over them warily. Annoyed.
But then, his expression shifted, softening noticeably as he briefly inspected her too. He peered behind her head to witness the commotion following in her wake, the disturbed ripple in the crowd like a boulder dropped in a pond. A clear indicator that a chase was ensuing.
Ever so softly, he grabbed Delaney’s arm. Guided her to the side. The stranger pressed her back into an alcove between shops, shielding her from sight with his own looming height.
She winced inwardly to have to admit that her parents were possibly correct: She was absolutely impulsive and willful and clearly had not a single regard for her own safety. But no sense of danger took hold, sequestered in the shadows with a boy whose name she did not know.
He left a sliver of space between them, not quite touching as he framed her head with his arms, blocking her completely from view. Utterly protective. His eyes narrowed slightly, head cocked to the side, standing so completely still it bordered on unnerving. But at the same time, even though she had never met him before, it felt likehim.
He never looked away from Delaney’s face. And as much as it terrified her in a brand new way that wasn’t really fearful at all, she held his gaze too.
“You have strange eyes,” he whispered, so quietly she barely heard him over the loud indignation of an upended crowd rolling their way.
Delaney could have been offended. The words themselves weren’t exactly kind, but the way he delivered them was almost like a prayer. She responded by narrowing said eccentricity, directed at his own unique hue, and delivered right back, “Youhave strange eyes.”
Despite the coy smile she offered, he frowned.
Delaney had to stifle a laugh as she watched his expression, registering that perhaps what he said may not have come off quite like he intended. “That’s—that’s not what I meant. The blue, the placement of it,” he attempted to recover hastily. “It reminds me of the eyelets on a peacock’s feathers. Or a moth’s wings.”
He more openly studied her irises, absorbing them like artwork. Enthralled.
A flurry of aforementioned moths swirled within her, dustwings brushing at her stomach.
Her quiet whisper not at all forced, she replied, “I know. It’s not what I meant either.”
His own eyes resembled an abyss of black ink that she could plunge in like a lake. Sink beneath its surface. Get lost and be glad for it.
A corner of his lips pulled up—ever so slightly. A ghost of a smile, but not quite committed. And it felt like they shared a secret, uttered beneath cupped palms, meant only for the other.
Delaney struggled to breathe, her lungs incapable of doing their job. Silly little things. She became incredibly aware of how much sweat she poured, and the horrifying fact that she hadn’t had a bath in far longer than she cared to admit. Hope fizzled that perhaps the ampleperfumes she used that morning fulfilled their purpose. Though the appearance of the boy suggested it had been some time for him as well.
“Delaney!” Tenna called again. Close.
The boy solidified his stance when a sliver of fear passed over Delaney’s countenance. Tenna’s head whipped from side to side, just barely visible from beneath the boy’s protective arm. “Delaney Thornridge, when I find you, I am going to flay you alive!”
This time, Delaney winced physically, waiting for the axe to drop.
At the calling of her very well known surname, some of the serious intensity of the boy dropped. For the first time, he glanced beyond her face, flicking to the hat she wore, adorned with a spidersilk ribbon above its brim. At the finery of her pink dress.
That perfect brow arched slowly up his smooth forehead in question, nearly touching his hairline.
He had so much of it—that onyx hair. Piled high on top of his head. The tight wind of his smooth bun, the thickness of it, made Delaney imagine what it might look like when taken down. Was it wavy or straight? Had Delaney been a betting person, her wager would fall in the category of his tresses being nearly as long as hers. Longer, maybe.
She desperately wanted to find out.
Delaney expected him to push away, to give her up to Tenna right then and there. But he didn’t. He only stayed silent, openly staring at her in the most curious of ways until Tenna had marched right past them, huffing like an angry bull. Far longer than necessary, they stayed hidden and silent, but neither one of them seemed willing to break from their quiet cocoon.
Until finally…
“Delaney,” he said. Slowly. Testing it out. Far too pleasant coming from his mouth and sending her a peculiar covering of gooseflesh, contradicting her weeping pores. She couldn’t help but notice how heleft out the second part of her name, despite having clearly recognized its notoriety.
