Page 26 of Burn

Everything converged, as turbulent as this storm. Yet I burned through the rain, raged and wept my way through it. In a frenzy, I sped along another overpass, then skittered in place.

The next ribbon flapped from a branch splaying over a lookout point. My free fingers clenched the nearest ledge. Then I followed the panorama, veering my head toward a parallel level.

And my heart stopped.

The wind howled. Half-light crocheted the trees, their boughs whisking about in the tumult. Through that chaos, a tall figure emerged. Rain and moonlight cast his body in a sharp outline, a slash of black that emphasized his height and solid form.

Long ago, I’d watched him step into view like this. Not materializing from the shadows, as much as sauntering into the light. That’s what I’d thought of him then. Some things did not change.

Those eyes cut across the distance like green blades. His wicked irises speared through every obstruction, every crossway, every inch separating us. That penetrating stare struck me with the force of lightning, sparking my veins to life.

Poet.

Across the chasm, our gazes clung. We stood beneath the flood, water slicing through our clothes. Suspended in these heights, far above the ground, time ceased to exist.

With another step, the jester came fully into the eventide. That devious face. The slope of his jaw. The hard planes of his body, the arms packed with muscle. Most of all, the way he looked at me.

Agonized. As if he’d just slit his veins open.

Livid. As though I had defied every rule he’d ever made.

Famished. Like he’d been starving for an eternity and just located his prey.

I imagined his pupils marking me. I sensed his knuckles curling, intent on grabbing what was his. I felt the ghost of his touch stoking my blood.

Poet!

I trembled like a rope pulled so tautly, it was about to snap. The choked noise I had been withholding rushed up my throat. Perhaps more than one sound begged for release. Perhaps it was every noise I’d denied myself for months. The cacophony pressed against my lips, fighting to break free.

One second. One held breath.

We stared. Then we broke.

Poet tore from his stance and pounded across the gangplank. At the same time, I burst into another run, hectic pants rushing from my lungs. Vaulting down a short set of stairs and up another, I shot over the platform, arms and legs pumping.

The jester blew toward me like a tornado, his movements destructive. He flipped a stone pedestal table out of the way, sending the object crashing to the ground, the tempest eating up the sound. He bounded over railings instead of going around them, because that would take longer. He threw out his arms, flinging debris and lower branches from his path. More and more of him came into stark relief, from the wet shirt pasted to his torso, to the dark leather pants, to the ferocious expression on his face.

He scorched a path over the planks. I accelerated my pace, rampantly slapping my sodden hair from my face.

Devastated sobs heaved off my tongue. Closer. So much closer. Because now I inhaled the dangerous scents of amber and vetiver.

We cut around the last bend. Not thirty feet away, Poet exploded with movement across the uppermost bridge. From my end, I charged down the platform like a feral thing, cravingthisandnowandhere.

His scent. His hands. His mouth.

The jester was on me in less than a second. I hurled myself at him—“Poet!” I cried—just as he snatched me off the ground and wrenched my body against his. We slammed together, crashing into one another with a velocity that knocked the air from my lungs. Heat and strength enveloped me, one arm snaring around my waist like iron, the other hand clamping onto the back of my head and hoisting me into him.

Finally, that terrible sound splintered from my lips. With a possessive snarl, Poet swooped down, his hot mouth catching the noise. His feverish lips seized mine, clamping onto me and devouring my sobs like a ravenous creature. Instantly, he pried apart my mouth, opening me wider and powering us into a furious kiss.

While the sky emptied itself around us, Poet’s sinful tongue flexed into me. I gasped against his mouth, with tears streaming down my face. The taste of him assaulted my senses, inundating me with the decadent flavors of wine and spice. The heated clutch of his lips pulled on me, his wet tongue lashing.

I reciprocated, thrusting my lips against his. The contact wrung a pained groan from Poet, his longing matching my own, his pulse smashing into mine.

My fingers ripped through his soaked hair and used the leverage, yanking him deeper. The weight and strength of his mouth wrought another choked noise from my being. My head swam, gravity disappearing from under my feet.

He had come. This was real.

A hundred nights of restraint and silence ruptured through me. I did not merely crack open. I erupted, choking and wracked with tears.

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