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My eyes flick open, and I quickly step back as his hands form a chokehold. “What the hell?”
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “That was unintentional. I need skin-to-skin contact, and the deeper the thread, the closer I’ll need to be.”
I extend my hands toward him. “Then you can hold my hands like you did with Ferris.”
He nods and gently takes them. “And if I need more? If I need to push further?”
“Fine. Whatever. You have my permission to do what you need to do if it gets me what I want.” I squeeze his hands. “Just do it before I chicken out.”
He swallows thickly and tugs on me, pulling me closer to him. “Close your eyes and do your best not to move. Relax as much tension from your muscles as you can. The more willing you are, the easier I can dive beneath your flesh.”
My face twists. “Ew.”
His nose scrunches. “I know, but there’s no better way to say it.”
“Alright.” I huff and close my eyes.
There’s a hint of a smile to his voice as the tips of his boots nudge against mine. “Alright.”
Chapter Thirteen
Itstartswithflashesof light and dark – incoherent sparks of my life littered behind my eyelids.
First, there’s Momma as she cooks my favorite lentil soup and sings an old hymn:Look how the roses wilt, look how he holds the hilt…
Then there’s me, small and in my brother’s arms as we find constellations in the sky. His laugh is tiny, child-like but infinite in happiness. So innocent and beautiful.
Look how these thorns wound, look how she must swoon…
On my skin, Cristen’s fingers move up my arms, his chest bumps into mine. I draw onto my toes and tuck into him.
There’s a black hole at the back of my head. Vacant, endless. It gapes and yawns, sleepless yet silent but for Momma’s hymn:Look how we drown in gold, look how our stories are told…
I see myself kneeling in our backyard. Dirt cakes my knees, my hands, my face. I cackle as my brother dances before me, his little arms spread wide and his head tilted to the sun. His long mane of blond hair trickles down his spine in a ponytail. He always refused to cut it.
I whimper into Cristen’s chest.
His hand grapples the back of my neck as he presses me harder against him.
Look how the Royals die, look how our babes must lie…And the hole taunts us, Cristen and I. It grows wider, wishes to swallow us into its depths and never set us free. One more step into my mind, and we’ll be prisoners. We’ll fall and fall and fall and –
I gasp for breath, my eyes popping open in horror.
Cristen’s forehead presses against mine. His chest heaves to the rhythm of my heart. His eyes blink a few times, resurfacing from my threads as I do.
The rational side of my brain tells me to rip myself from him, but I’m too busy drinking in his scent, scraping my nails into his back. It’s like there’s a throbbing tether between us, and if I move away, even an inch, it will snap. It’s not a lifeline, and it’s not a noose. It’s somewhere in between, and it’sgreedy.
Cristen must feel it, too. His breaths are ragged as his lips skim my forehead. “I can try again,” he murmurs.
“That place,” I whisper, “that black hole. What was that?”
He knots a fist in my hair, the muscles along his bicep bulging as if he’s restraining himself. I don’t know if it’s from moving away – his consciousness screaming at him as mine is – or from wanting to move closer. “It could be a spot where a major memory was stolen,” he mumbles. “It could also be a repressed memory.” He tightens his hold on my hair and forces my gaze up to his.
His eyes swirl with dark, sensuous colors, the pupils dilated. He inhales deeply as if trying to pull himself back from something, but I move my finger against his spine, and his desire burns into me, crawling across that invisible tether between us.
“What is that?” I ask as heat builds in my core. Rational thought leaves me as he leans down, his eyes focused on my lips. “Cristen?”
“Hmm?” His eyes flutter shut as his nose bumps with mine.
