Page 37 of The Sorcerer's Thief
The coin warms against my palm and begins to vibrate. I hear the humming now. “Jules?”
He shushes me.
I frown but stay quiet.
While I have the opportunity to stare unabashedly, I study his face. Sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, no signs of stubble at all. Some fae don’t grow facial hair. Of all the traits I could have inherited from what little fae blood I have, that’s one we have in common.
Baby cheeks, my grandfather called me and Hopper before they both died. His beard was red and shaggy down to his collarbones, but I’ve never grown a single hair on my chin. Looks as if Jules hasn’t either.
The urge to trail my finger along his angled jawline rises like steam from a kettle, and it’s just as insistent. I shove the thought aside.
Bad idea, Cricket. Don’t go getting attached. He’s here for one thing and one thing only: the coin.
Not me.
Though he’s accepted my overtures at friendship, I won’t fool myself into thinking it’ll stick. Julian has no friends by design. Why would he make an exception for me?
If I hadn’t stolen this coin, I’d be making this journey alone. We wouldn’t have met.
“Let me touch it,” he says, startling me from my thoughts. “Just my hand over yours. Flat. No grabby fingers, cross my heart.”
“Tell me what you’re learning, and I will.”
“Deal, but after. I need silence to concentrate.”
“Go on.”
He lays his mangled hand atop mine, skin on skin except where the coin rests between us. Warm, soft, welcome. The touch is barely there, yet it steals my entire focus.
The coin positively sings with delight, radiating joy that dances from my chest to my toes. Julian parts his lips, and I’m staring again. He meets my gaze as though his emerald eyes could pierce my soul.
We’re extremely close. If I were to lean in, and he were to do the same, we’d be kissing. I want to kiss him. To taste his skin. To learn how he responds to a tender touch. A mingled breath.
Our palms tingle with shared energy. Julian’s magic swirls orange and dreamy around us, like a blanket of safety. Like nothing could hurt us when we’re together.
Rain plinks on the metal roof, beating a random rhythm that promises more to come. His thumb rubs a circle on my wrist. I’m caught in Julian’s spell, sliding forward, lips parted.
He jerks away, blinking.
My heart sinks. Burning disappointment lodges in my throat, making my breath choppy. I clench my fingers around the coin and put it back in my pocket.
The orange glow around us fizzles out, leaving us alone in our togetherness.
I don’t understand. Julian’s expression is full of longing, eyes dark, pupils dilated.
“It’s not real,” he says.
I try to disguise my hurt for anger. “What are you talking about?”
“The coin made us want it.”
“It?”
“The kiss. Each other…” A flush colors his cheeks. He looks away. “More. It’s the coin’s doing. It’s not real.”
What?Somehow that makes me feel worse because I know in my heart he’s wrong. The coin agrees, cold as a block of ice against my chest at Julian’s words.
I want to argue, want to reassure him that our desireisreal. At least mine is.
