NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1)(35)

He sighs, and it sounds lost up here as it floats away over the edge, and he looks out over the ocean.

“Because I lost everything.”

I’m the silent one now, because it’s hard to stomach the rawness in his voice, the emotion that he can’t quite hide. Dare surprises me by adding something, something so startlingly personal that it takes my breath away.

“I’m not sure if I can be found.”

He looks at me with eyes so black, blacker than black, blacker than night.

“That would insinuate that you’re lost. Not just that you’ve lost everything,” I point out, careful not to ask it as a question. He nods curtly.

“Maybe I am.” His voice has a scalpel’s edge.

He’s lost.

“And if I’m lost,” he continues. “How can I possibly find someone else?”

He confuses me with his vague words. “Are you looking for someone else?”

“Aren’t we all?” His gaze impales me and my heart twinges because the look on his face is vulnerable and broken.

But then it’s gone, as fast as it appeared. He looks at me again, his eyes clear now, closed, bright. He once again appears cocky and arrogant and he flashes his go-to smile.

“Sorry. That seemed dramatic. Chalk it up to my near-death experience.”

I smile back, grim and quiet. “I had a near death experience too, once. Actually, I had a death experience when I ate some nuts in the fourth grade. I died for a minute and a half.”

Dare stares at me. “How was it?”

What a strange question.

“Uneventful,” I admit.

“Well, how very anti-climactic of it,” he acknowledges. And the fact that he’s so blasé about mortality makes me laugh, and then we’re both standing on the edge of a cliff laughing in the face of death.

It seems right.

When we’re silent again, he eyes me.

“Why are you sitting out here on the edge of nowhere?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Official question?”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “God no. I just thought you might offer it as a bonus.”

I roll my eyes too. “Don’t hold your breath. Talking about myself is my least favorite thing.”

He smiles for a minute because I’m throwing his own words back in his face, but then sobers, staring deep into my eyes, examining my soul.

“I’d think you’d enjoy it,” he tells me quietly. “It’s such an interesting subject.”

Just like that, my heart thunders and pounds, my stomach rolling over and over and over. There’s something so stimulating in his voice, something so attractive and real.

Live, Calla, the Universe whispers.

“I’m glad you think so,” I finally answer, sounding perfectly casual, as I try to live.

He nods slowly. “I do. Not that it means anything.”

It means everything.

But I don’t say that, of course. Instead, I begin to walk and Dare walks with me, instead of continuing his run. At one point, he grasps my elbow and helps me step over a rotting log. When he removes his hand, I feel its absence immediately. His touch had been branding-iron hot.

Or so I imagined.

Our walk back is silent, but the air is charged.

We pause outside of the carriage house.

“Thanks again,” he says, his voice husky and quiet.

I nod. “Anytime.”

He smiles, a real one this time, and I collect it, putting it in my jacket so I can hold it for later.

Then he walks inside, his shoulders swaying and the sunshine fading into the backdrop because something about him shines so bright.

I fall into a chair on the side porch, thinking about Dare, about his complexity, his mystery, his endless contradictions. I pull his smile out of my pocket and examine it, because it’s beautiful and real and I want to hold it forever.

I don’t see Dare again all day, but when I retire to my room for the night, there is a bouquet of calla lilies on my bed.

The note is written in dark scrawling handwriting, that simply says, Thanks again.

The mere idea that Dare had somehow managed to get inside of my room and stand this close to my bed, sets the butterflies free in my belly. They whirl and twirl and fly against my ribcage as I collapse into bed.

I fall asleep with the flowers in my hand, and thoughts of Dare in my head.

His smile is the last thing I think of before I drift away into oblivion, and it reappears, over and over, in my dreams.





18


DECEM ET OCTO

Finn



I wake with a start, from the nightmares of broken glass and burning metal.

It’sRealRealRealReal. She’s deadddddddddd. The whispers hiss and laugh.

I gasp for air, gripping the bedclothes tight, as I fight the clouds of confusion and panic and fear.

Without a second thought, I pad down the hall to Calla’s room and climb into the empty side of her bed. Something stabs me in the back, and I pull out a bouquet of flowers. I stare at them for a second, puzzled. Then I realize… Dare must’ve given them to her. Suddenly and overwhelmingly annoyed, I get out of bed and crush them under my heel.

I want her to be happy, I do.

I do.

But… Not yet. I just can’t be without her yet.