Betrayed (House of Night #2)(14)

"Oh, gosh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll just say bye and leave you alone." I waved (like a dork) and started to turn away, but he caught my wrist with his free hand. "You don't have to go. I find inspiration in more things than being out here alone." His hand was warm against my wrist and I wondered if he could feel my pulse jump. "Well, I don't want to bother you."

"Don't worry about that. You're not bothering me." He squeezed my wrist before (sadly) letting it go. "Okay, so. Haiku." His touch had left me ridiculously flustered and I tried to regain my fa?ade of good sense. "That's Asian po etry with a set meter count, right?" His smile made me ever so glad I'd actually paid attention in Mrs. Wienecke's English class last year during the poetry unit. "That's right. I prefer the five-seven-five format." He paused and his smile changed. Something about it made my stomach do a little fluttery thing, and his dark, beautiful eyes locked on mine. "Speaking of inspiration--you could help me out."

"Sure, I'd be happy to," I said, glad I didn't sound as breathless as I felt. Still looking into my eyes, he lifted his hand so that it brushed my shoulder. "Nyx has Marked you there." It didn't sound like a question, but I nodded. "Yes."

"I would like to see it. If it wouldn't make you too uncomfort able." His voice shivered through me. Logic was telling me that he was only asking to see my tattoos because of how freakishly dif ferent they are, and that he was in no way coming on to me. To him I must seem nothing more than a child--a kid--a fledgling with weird Marks and unusual powers. That's what logic was telling me. But his eyes, his voice, the way his hand was still ca ressing my shoulder--those things were telling me something completely different. "I'll show it to you." I was wearing my favorite jacket--black suede and cut to fit me perfectly. Under it I had on a deep purple tank. (Yes, it's the end of November, but I don't feel the cold like I did before I was Marked. None of us do.) I started to shrug out of the jacket. "Here, let me help you." He was standing very close to me, in front and to the side. He reached up with his right hand, caught the collar of my jacket with his fingers, and slid it over and down my shoulder so that it pooled around my elbows.

Loren should be looking at my partially bare shoulder, gawk ing at the tattoos there that not one other fledgling or vampyre that I knew of had ever had. But he wasn't. He was still staring into my eyes. And suddenly something happened within me. I stopped feeling like a goofy, jittery, dorky teenage girl. The look in his eyes touched the woman inside me, awakening her, and as this new me stirred I found a calm confidence in myself that I had rarely known before. Slowly, I reached up and pushed the small strap of my ribbed cotton tank over my shoulder so that it joined my half-discarded jacket. Then, still meeting his eyes, I swept my long hair out of the way, lifted my chin, and turned my body slightly, giving him a clear view of the back of my shoulder, which was now completely bare except for the slim line of my black bra. He continued to meet my gaze for several more seconds, and I could feel the cool breath of the night air and the caress of the nearly full moon on the exposed skin of my breast and shoulder and back. Very deliberately, Loren moved even closer to me, hold ing my upper arm while he looked at the back of my shoulder. "It's incredible." His voice was so low it was almost a whisper. I felt his fingertip lightly trace the labyrinthlike spiral pattern that was, except for the exotic-looking runes interspersed around the spirals, much like my facial Mark. "I've never seen anything like this. It's as if you're an ancient priestess who has materialized in our time. How blessed we are to have you, Zoey Redbird." He said my name like a prayer. His voice mixed with his touch made me shiver as goose bumps lifted on my skin. "I'm sorry. You must be cold." Gently, but quickly, Loren pulled up my tank strap and my jacket. "I wasn't shivering because I was cold." I heard myself say the words, and couldn't decide if I should be proud of myself or shocked at my boldness.

"Cream and silk as one How I long to taste and touch The moon watches us." His eyes never left mine as he recited the poem. His voice, which was usually so practiced, so perfect, had gone all deep and rough, like he was having a hard time speaking. As if his voice had the ability to heat me, I was so flushed that I could feel my blood pounding fiery rivers through my body. My thighs tingled and it was hard to catch my breath. If he kisses me I might explode. The thought shocked me into speaking. "Did you write that just now?" This time my voice sounded as breathless as I felt. He shook his head slightly, a smile barely touching his lips. "No. It was written centuries ago by an ancient Japanese poet about how his lover looked naked under the full moon."

"It's beautiful," I said. "You're beautiful," he said, and cupped my cheek in his hand. "And tonight you have been my inspiration. Thank you." I could feel myself leaning into him, and I swear his body re sponded. I may not be highly experienced. And, hell yes, I'm still a virgin. But I'm not an utter moron (most of the time). I know when a guy is into me. And this guy--for that moment--was def initely into me. I covered his hand with my own, and forgetting about everything, including Erik and the fact that Loren was an adult vamp and I was a fledgling, I willed him to kiss me, willed him to touch me more. We stared at each other. We were both breathing hard. Then, within the space of an instant, his eyes flickered and changed from dark and intimate to dark and dis tant. He dropped his hand from my face and moved a step back. I felt his withdrawal like an icy wind. "It was nice to see you, Zoey. And thanks again for allowing me to look at your Mark." His smile was polite and proper. He gave me a little nod that was almost a formal bow, and then he walked away. I didn't know whether I should scream in frustration, cry in embarrassment, or growl and be pissed. Frowning and muttering to myself, I ignored the fact that my hands were shaking and marched back to the dorm. This was definitely an I-need-my-best-friend emergency.