Author: Jodi Meadows

And maybe I was talking to empty air. Should I turn around?

“I am an idiot.” He said it like tumbling, like if he didn’t get it out quickly enough, we’d both fall apart. But weren’t we doing that already? “I asked if you wanted to leave because I wanted you to know you could. I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”

I stared at my socked feet and focused on breathing, suddenly aware of the entire house around us. Rooms filled with books and instruments, bedrooms with personal things, the parlor that used to be a haven, and the white shell around everything. Snow and wind beating on that shell.

He held his hand near mine, not touching. “I hate what people say about you. Everyone knows we live together, and everyone knows how I feel.” His words rustled hair across the back of my neck, making me shiver. “The assumptions about us aren’t kind.”

I knew.

“I don’t need that kind of protection, Sam. I’ve lived with gossip my entire life. I can deal with what other people think or assume. Whatever is appropriate for them—they made those rules for them. Not for me.

“While I am”—I snorted—“lucky to have the benefit of everyone’s experience and wisdom, the truth is it’s been so long since any of you were truly my age that you can’t fathom what it’s like. Even if you do remember, the world is different now. You’ve made the world different. That leaves me with the responsibility of deciding what is or isn’t appropriate. If they want, other newsouls might be able to use my experience to decide when they’re ready, but who knows how the world will have changed by then?” According to Meuric, nothing would matter after Soul Night, anyway.

“So does that mean you’re staying with me?”

“Is that what you want?” Hope blossomed in my heart, but what happened the next time someone suggested a five-thousand-year-old teenager and a real teenager shouldn’t be together?

“More than anything, I want you.”

What happened the next time he saw Stef?

But he’d followed me out here to apologize. He’d danced with me at the masquerade, maybe even attended because of me. He’d been ready to go into the temple so I wouldn’t have to be alone.

I slid my heel back and let my weight follow until I pressed against his chest. His arms closed around me. Warmth filled me everywhere he touched.

“Ana,” he whispered. “I only wanted to do right by you, but I should have talked to you about it, too. Better than I did the other morning.”

“You and your stupid sense of honor.” My words held no bite. I was too drained, and he’d already apologized. Asking him to do it again would diminish the words.

“I agree.” He kissed the tip of my ear, sending prickles of heat all down my right side. His arms stayed around me, and when I tilted my head and he kissed my neck, it was as though we’d never left the masquerade. Only the music of our heartbeats and wind outside, surrounded only by silk and wood and cool air.

“Try not to be so dumb again.” I faced him, took his hand, and tried not to think about what I was admitting. “I’m not that strong, Sam. I can’t forget the past as easily as you. For me, it’s all right here, smushed together. Not stretched over thousands of years.”

He cupped my cheek and nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

“I’ve never been able to trust anyone before.” And the things I didn’t say out loud, but hoped he understood: please don’t hurt me again; be the person I need you to be; show me what it means to be in love so I can decide whether that’s what I feel.

Fingertips traced lines over my cheek, down my jaw. “I’ll do my best to deserve your trust.”

I lifted my face and kissed him, tasting the salt of my own tears, inhaling the scent of his soap.

He lifted me off the floor, held me tight against him. My skin slipped against my sweater until my toes touched hardwood and air touched my bare spine. He gave a breathy, nervous laugh as he hitched me up again and this time supported me with a hand on the back of my thigh. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

I had lost all power to breathe, but managed to hook my legs around his waist. It was strange, like we were too close and not close enough. His hips moved when he walked, and he kept one hand on my back, and one under my leg so I wouldn’t fall.

He placed me at the foot of his bed, and I recaptured my breath as he knelt before me. “You are beautiful.” His hands rested on my knees. “And wiser than anyone has given you credit for. The world does need you, Ana. You challenge us, make people think and open their eyes to the truths that we’ve been ignoring for too long. Sometimes I’m so aware of how close the world came to not having you at all, and it terrifies me. Our immortality is not without a price.”

“Neither is my life. There was Ciana, and other darksouls.”

He shook his head, black hair falling across his eyebrows. “I’m sorry that I disappoint you sometimes, Ana. I know I’m not perfect. No one is.”

I tried not to think about how many times I would inevitably disappoint him. I’d want his forgiveness when I did. I could forgive him now.

“There is something I am good at.” He ducked his head as though to hide a blush, and his hands on my legs forced my insides into taut coils of yearning. “At least I hope. I imagine you would tell me if I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.”

“Music?” I bit my lip. I’d never heard him so much as play an out-of-tune note.

He raised himself, leaned so close his words touched my mouth. “Kissing you.”

I couldn’t move. “Prove it.”

His sly smile flashed as he tilted his head and tipped his chin toward mine. Our lips brushed, but instead of kissing me, he rested his teeth against my skin and gave a gentle squeeze. His voice was so low it rumbled in my stomach, too. “I just wanted to find out if it tasted as good as I imagined.”

“And?” He hadn’t hurt me, but I could still feel the slight pressure where his teeth had been.

Maybe he’d do it again.

He leaned close and whispered by my ear. “Better.”

Wind and snow pattered on the shuttered window while we kissed. He touched my face, throat, collarbone, making me feel like a piano must under strong, skilled fingers. But his movements dragged, and even the cadence of his breath sounded off, as though he was trying not to yawn.

“When was the last time you slept?” I cupped my hand over his cheek, feeling the way his jaw moved when he answered.

“I don’t remember.”

Not since we’d found the parlor, I was certain. Even before that had merely been a couple of hours in the early morning. He must be exhausted.

“Lie down. I’ll turn off the light.”

He kissed me again, as if to prove he wasn’t that tired, and then stretched across the bed. “Stay with me,” he said, as I made the room fall into twilight.

I paused, wanting him to mean it.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Okay.” I emptied my pockets and laid my belongings on his nightstand. Then I crawled into the bed, facing him. Everything was so dark, I could barely see the shape of his body, and for a moment, my frantic heartbeat seemed the loudest thing.

“Blanket?” He reached around behind him to find the end.

“I am cold,” I whispered. And if he heard the shaking in my voice, maybe he’d think it was from chill.

He swept the sheet and down-filled comforter over us. “Closer?”

Yes. Definitely. I reached for him, relieved to find him reaching for me, too. His hands found my waist and pulled me tight against him. “Sam, I don’t know—”

His tone sounded like a half smile. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out another time. I just want to hold you right now.”

That was good. I wanted—something. But I didn’t want to do it wrong and embarrass myself. I probably would, anyway, if we ever got that far. But for now, I turned over—awkward in my day clothes—and pressed my back to his chest. Our legs intertwined, and I knotted my hands with his at my chest.

I slept.

And later woke to perfect snow silence outside, no wind or rattle of trees or clucking of chickens. Light seeped in around the shutters. I found which legs were mine and reclaimed them, then turned in Sam’s grasp. His hands were slack and heavy with the carelessness of sleep.

He rolled onto his back as I finished turning, and blankets pulled away. The susurrus of silk and our breathing were the only sounds.

Pale light shone around him, making highlights and deep shadows around the ridges of his face and neck, down his torso and arms. Hesitating—what if he woke up?—I combed dark strands of hair off his face, then traced the lines of his cheekbones and smile.

He didn’t react; he must have been exhausted.

Brave when he wasn’t watching, I pushed onto my elbow to get a better angle, then kissed the same path my fingers had taken. He smelled like laundered sheets and hints of sweat.

My fingers had wandered down his chest while I wasn’t paying attention. Through the thin shirt, I explored hills and valleys of muscle, relaxed while he slept. I discovered the plains of his stomach and lifted his shirt to the bottom of his ribs, finding smooth skin, warm with sleep. He moaned.

I froze. “Are you awake?” Barely worthy of being called a whisper.

Muscles tensed beneath my questing fingers. “I am now.”

My face might have been on fire as I withdrew, but it was dim enough—I hoped—that he couldn’t tell. “Sorry.”

He dragged in a shuddering breath and gazed at me for a long moment. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of wake-up.”

“You didn’t think I’d still be here?” I could have gone back to my room, but he’d been so warm and—

“No, I’m glad you were here.” He pushed himself up, covers swishing around his legs. His shirt slipped back down, settling askew on his shoulders, and his smile was warm and shy. Boyish. “I like seeing you first thing.”

“Oh, good.” I doubted it was possible for my face to burn any hotter.

“Just the way you—” He dragged his fingertips from my shoulder to my wrist, making me shiver. “I didn’t realize we were doing that now.”

What? Touching? We touched all the time. Or maybe I’d ventured into one of those places I didn’t know about, just wanted to. Well, this time had been different: he’d been sleeping, which might have been a little creepy of me, but I doubted that was it. My hands on his stomach, though…

My own stomach muscles tightened when I remembered the way he’d caressed me during the masquerade. Tickling. Tingling. Deeper. “Oh.” The word came as a breath. “I think we should. Be doing that now, I mean.” Maybe right now.

His smile grew slowly, as if he knew my thoughts. I sort of hoped he did. “Did you sleep well?” he asked instead.

“Yes.” I scooted to the edge and let my legs dangle off. My toes brushed the floor as I gazed around at the bookshelves and old instruments crowding his bedroom. As long as I kept my back to the exterior wall, it was a safe room, all dimness and comforting things. Music. Sam. “Your bed is softer than mine.”

Sam chuckled and sat beside me. “They’re exactly the same.”

“They are not. Yours is better.” I didn’t really want to argue, but little bickering neither of us would take seriously—I knew how to deal with that. It was easier than asking him to show me what else we were doing now. I could barely think those words, let alone say them.

“Very well. It is better.” His mouth grazed my cheek. “When you’re with me.”

Eventually, my skin would stain red. Permanently. “Do you think it’s still snowing?”