Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(75)

“What? Who’s Matthieu?”

“The boy who was pickpocketing in the Business Sector. He works for me at my estate. He said a man got between him and his attacker. That was you, wasn’t it?”

He blinked, trying to absorb the information. “Oh. I guess it was. I didn’t know he belonged to you. I mean, not belong as in you own him, or at least I hope not, just that if he works for you—”

He was rambling again. She put a hand against his chest, leaving reddish fingerprints on his shirt.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, as if he didn’t know what to say. What design had the gods woven to keep bringing this boy back into her life in unlikely ways? Amaya didn’t understand it, this push and pull, this interlocking of fates. It was too big for her to comprehend.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe she was supposed to allow herself to be shipwrecked, to find someone who could help her through the jungle. To help her step out of the past and remain in the present, to turn her eyes to a future she’d thought she didn’t deserve.

“I’m glad,” he said suddenly, “that you came to Moray.”

Her breath shuddered out of her. He took a step closer, the rain washing off the clay from his cheek but not touching the symbol of protection at the base of his throat. She was hyperaware of his body so close to hers, how he breathed and moved, the heat trapped under his coat.

“Can…” His eyes dropped to her lips, longing. “Can I kiss you?”

From anyone else, the question would have sounded innocent, imploring. But in Cayo’s voice, it was a question that burned through her. In just four words he had opened a door to his desire, allowing her to see it. To do with it what she would.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

She thought it might be a sudden thing, but Cayo was slow, careful, as if he had spent a long time thinking of this moment. One of his hands settled at her hip, and heat spiraled from the touch, coiling in her stomach. His other hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the skin beside her ear. She shivered at the sensation, almost angry with herself for the involuntary admission that he was doing something to her that no one ever had before, that she had never wanted before. Until him.

When he touched his lips to hers, she was shocked by the softness of it, the tentative heat and exploration. As if he had guessed that this was all new to her, that she had no idea how to navigate these waters. The second brush of their lips was more insistent, and Amaya found herself clutching her shawl, trapped between Cayo’s hands and having no idea what to do with her own.

He pulled away a little, and she opened her eyes to find his half-lidded. Waiting. Patient. She nodded again, and he brought her in closer, fusing their mouths together with such intensity that she gasped against him.

The surrender was terrifying, but she let herself melt into it, into how Cayo’s hand swept up her back and cupped the other side of her face, his fingers scrunching into her hair. She let go of her shawl and clung to him instead, feeling the expanse of his chest as he breathed, the frantic beating of his heart.

His tongue brushed her lips, and she staggered against him. Her head was hot and light, and she barely understood what she was doing when she opened to him, some animal instinct taking over.

You can’t, a part of her cried. Remember who he is. What you have to do to him.

What was she doing?

Amaya pulled away, pressing a hand against her mouth. It was warm and buzzing, her lips carrying the impression of Cayo’s.

He stared at her, out of breath, as rain rolled down his stunned face. The water ran over his throat, breaking the symbol of protection she had made.

He took a concerned step toward her. “Ya—”

“No.” She held a hand up to stop him, to prevent him from calling her a name that was not her own. When he had held her, she had forgotten about Countess Yamaa, about Silverfish, about what she had come here to do.

She had been Amaya, a seventeen-year-old girl with hopes and desires, and she had been free.

But she wasn’t free. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She turned and ran from him. Breaking through the copse of aloe trees, she headed out of the park, wiping the rain from her face and forcing herself not to look back. If he followed, she couldn’t hear him, and she would lose him within the alleys anyway.

She couldn’t do this much longer. She had to use Cayo to get to Mercado, to turn his desire into a weapon for vengeance.

But as she tried to look to the future that had seemed possible only moments ago, she saw nothing but a barren orchard, the memory of Cayo’s lips on hers grown cold.





Do not be afraid to fold. Do not be ashamed to walk away. We all must know our limits, and to recognize when we have been beaten.

—THE INS AND OUTS OF TABLE BETTING



Cayo didn’t chase after her. He had seen the spark of something in her eyes—not regret, exactly, but something close to fear, or surprise.

When he had kissed her—I kissed her, he thought in wonder—he had sensed that she had never done this before. With a boy, or with anyone. He still remembered his first kiss, an awkward exchange between him and some merchant’s daughter, and he had been just as stiff, just as unsure.

But then Yamaa had eased against him, her lips pliant and allowing it to happen. He could still feel that phantom touch, bright and sparking against the rain.