Reign of Shadows (Reign of Shadows, #1)(45)

“Admit what?”

A gust of breath spilled from my lips. She was right. There had been girls, women, back home. Most days it felt almost normal. People in the cobbled streets. A bustling market with tradesmen hawking their wares in the square. The swish of skirts as daughters and mothers passed me on the street on the way to the temple, hoping for a glimpse of, a word from, the Oracle. Sometimes there would be laughter draped over the odor of hope and desperation. Laughter as though all was well. You could almost pretend things were normal—except for the unrelenting night and monsters outside the city’s walls.

“I admit,” I began, the words strangling me, “that I find you appealing.”

She stared at me with that impossibly penetrating gaze. It was probing and unnerving.

“You find me appealing?” Her brow knitted as though she was attempting to translate my words.

“Appealing. Attractive. You’re pretty.” I released a small, breathless laugh. “And you’re not a terrible travel companion either.”

Her smile was instantaneous then, blindingly bright, her teeth as white as the moon overhead. You’d think I’d given her the greatest gift, which only made me feel like a wretch because I’d given her so little.

“In the spirit of confession,” she said, a smile still playing about her mouth, “I’ll admit that I share the sentiment.”

I laughed briefly until I managed to catch the sound and stifle it. I was quiet for a moment, basking in the strangeness of sitting in a tree side by side with a girl I had not known very long. She had been thrust upon me against my every wish, but here we were like two friends. Friends. I closed my eyes in one pained blink. There was the reality and there was nothing I could do about it now.

“Indeed? So I’m not a terrible travel companion?” I teased, noting the far-off figure of a dark dweller zigzagging between trees, his body a pale outline against the darker night. I paused, watching the creature fade deeper into the orchard. I looked back down at her. “Or is it that you find me pretty?”

“No, well, y-yes,” she stammered. “When you talk, your voice is attractive. Which isn’t often, mind you.”

“So you like the way I talk?” I nodded, enjoying her discomfort. “What else?”

“Your arms and chest . . . the way you smell.” She leaned in suddenly, closer to my face, inhaling me. I stilled as the cold tip of her nose brushed my throat.

Sensation zipped down to settle at the base of my spine in a way I had not felt in years. Not since . . .

It all came back to me in a rush. Flirting with Bethan outside her father’s stall on market days until finally, one day when he was distracted haggling with an old woman over the price of bread, I pulled her into a nearby alley between stalls. I caressed her cheek in the stale darkness. And I kissed her.

I’d forgotten how it felt. The way the back of my skull pulled tight all the way down to my toes. That utter awareness of another person on a physical level. The want. The need. Desire.

Apparently, I wasn’t totally numb, after all.

Luna lifted a hand and inched it toward my face. Even though I saw it coming, I flinched and backed away, knowing, fearing somehow, that the moment she touched me it would be all over. There would be no more ignoring her.

She hesitated, her palm face out. She couldn’t see me, but she felt my withdrawal. “May I?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice coming out strained. Touching me was her way of seeing me, and I wouldn’t stop her.

She resumed moving that hand toward me until her palm was flush with my cheek. A ragged breath escaped me, but I still made no move, knowing she had to do this.

An airy, light sound escaped her that resembled laughter.

“Are you laughing?” I rasped, every bit of me coiled and ready to snap into motion.

“A little. You’re grinding your teeth.”

I unclenched my jaw. Her palm shifted on my face. She slid a fingertip over my bottom lip. The gentle touch on my lips fired me. It made me think of her lips and mine and the things they could do other than talk.

I sucked in a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably on the branch.

Her hand lifted slightly from my face. “Is this fine with you?” she whispered.

I nodded and breathed against her fingers as they landed on my mouth again, tracing the shape, her touch both soft and clinical like a physician examining me, although I’d never felt this way before when I had been poked and prodded as a boy. No, I felt afire, overly warm in the perpetual chill.

“Finished?” I asked in a choking voice when I knew she had fully explored my lips. What more could she do without killing me?

She lifted her fingers. “Quite. Thank you.” She sighed and settled back against me.

I waited, feeling her gradually relax. Her body softened into mine and I clenched my jaw, willing myself to relax, too—as impossible as that seemed. My pulse hammered at my neck. Every time I breathed, I caught her scent.

“Fowler, I don’t care what you say. You’re my friend.”

I inhaled. “I know.”

A glance down showed her lips curving. Her breathing gradually slowed. Her body melted into mine, so trusting. If she wasn’t asleep she was on the verge of it.

Sleep wouldn’t come for me. I knew this. Not with Luna curled against me and her words playing over and over in my mind. I don’t care what you say. You’re my friend. Not with the memory of those men and their bag of heads.