Page 38 of The Revenge Plan (Forbidden Descendants 1)

The sudden silence of my thoughts was so nice, in fact, that I nearly fell asleep just like that, until Wick said, “So…what do you want to talk about?”

Oh, yeah. He was still around. I really should’ve remembered that since his presence at my side was literally what had caused all this contentment.

Lashes fluttering open, I tipped my head up and sort of to the side in a diagonal kind of way to see him. He seemed so solid and real and there, that I smiled. “You know,” I slurred. “I suddenly can’t think of a single topic.”

His brow furrowed. “So, the crazy, spinning thoughts are—”

“Gone,” I answered, and grinned even bigger as I snapped my fingers. “Poof.”

“Gone,” he repeated slowly, glancing around the room as if he wasn’t sure what to do about that. Then he murmured a confused, “Okay.”

He set his hands on his thighs as people did right before they were going to stand. Except that thought panicked me. My brain had calmed the moment we had sat beside each other, touching. What if he stood and put distance between us, and the scattered, rambling discord returned? I didn’t think I could handle that again, not tonight anyway. I already felt too vu

lnerable and raw. And his thigh was so warm and comfortable and soothing pressed up against mine like it was. Heck, his smell even eased something inside me. It was natural, like that earthy scent right before a warm rain shower. I didn’t want it to end yet.

I swear, this bit of physical contact with him was like comfort food for the soul. It stirred a memory in me that had me blinking in surprise, until I blurted, “Did you hold me?”

“Uh…” He shifted an inch away, clearly uncomfortable by the question. “What?”

I shook my head trying to grasp the memory fully, except it kept slipping through my hands as if it were slathered in grease. But then, there! Another quick memory flashed through my synapses. I got a good hold of it and concentrated on it, until…

“Earlier…” I squinted as I thought harder. “When I was out of it? In your sister’s dorm room…”

There’d been fingers in my hair, warm breath at my temple, a voice in my ear, making everything better. His voice, I think.

When I looked up at him, he seemed frozen with guilt, and I knew it was true. He had held me when I’d fallen apart.

Of course, he had. Izzy had flat-out said he’d carried me tonight to get me here. But in the process of carrying me, his touch had also comforted me.

Something inside me remembered that.

“It’s okay if you did,” I hurried to add, in case he thought he was in trouble because he looked as if he thought he was in serious trouble. “I just… It seems like I remember, you know, human contact, or warmth or something. Someone holding me. A deep voice. And this safe, floaty feeling.”

He nodded slowly, only to pause and lift an eyebrow. “A floaty feeling?”

I grinned. “Yeah, you know, kind of like floating, but it has a bit more ee to it.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do know.”

“Well, floating suggests water, right? Being in a boat and just bobbing aimlessly around with no destination in mind. Or being up in the air, with nothing under your feet. But this was more solid and grounded. It had the same wispy freedom as regular old floating, except it was safe and secure. It had purpose. It was…”

When I twirled my hand, trying to come up with the perfect description for what I had experienced, he suggested, “Floaty?”

I pointed at him. “Exactly. So…were you the voice I heard? The warmth I felt? The…the floaty?”

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to answer. Then he drew in a breath, and said, “I…was.”

When his gaze met mine, it went wary as if he expected to get bitched out for daring to help me—to touch me—in my time of need. But bitching him out was the last thing I wanted to do.

“I… Well, thank you,” I said, all the while, my chest filled with pressure because the urge to ask for more floaty filled me to the brink.

His eyebrows lowered suspiciously. When I still didn’t bitch him out within another few seconds, he blinked and shook his head, murmuring a leery, “You’re welcome.”

He started to stand because maybe the moment was getting too big, or intimate, or intense for him. I’m not sure, but I couldn’t let him leave, so I snapped out my hand to catch his wrist, staying him.

“Wick?”

Pausing, he glanced over. “Yeah?”

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