Just as I was about to retreat to the shadows, Miranda stepped even closer. A mere inch separated us. A shaking hand raised up. My brow furrowed as she reached through the bars and ran her fingers through my hair. A hard lump formed in my throat, and it was as if someone tightened screws in my chest. Both sensations loosened at her touch, and I swallowed hard.
Fuck. When was the last time I’d been touched in affection? Had I ever?
A bottomless chasm opened in my chest even as her touch softened the hardest parts of me.
I drew in a shuddering breath as long forgotten sensations overwhelmed me. The warmth of flesh. The unique healing power it possessed when pressed against another’s. Immortals may possess magic, but did mortals understand the power of touch?
The soft pads of her fingertips grazed my scalp. The sensation threatened to pull me under, drown me. I could drown in her. In the solace she somehow traced into my mind with the scrape of her short nails.
What would it be like to feel her touch all over? To hold her warm, pliant body to mine? To smooth away the worries from her troubled mind?
Her hand dropped away, and my insides railed at the loss as a deep sadness consumed me from the inside out. It was not meant to be. It could never be. There were only two fates for me. Existence and pain. Or death and oblivion. But Miranda would live.
She withdrew her sword. “Wish granted,” she said.
The painful strike of the sword was a welcome sensation after she stopped touching me. And it helped cut up my rush of affection and need for Miranda. I wanted more. So much more.
I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted more. I’ve only wanted less, less breath, less life. But those enchanting fucking eyes made me want to drop to my knees and promise her anything she wanted as long as she touched me again like that, looked at me like this. Like she gave a fuck about me.
ChapterTwelve
THE BADASS
The next morning, I bought a redeye from Aaron — a large cup of coffee with an espresso shot thrown in on top— and sat at my usual table at Perkatory.
Aaron was hard at work, steaming milk and pulling shots for the long line of bleary-eyed guests who stayed up way too late last night, indulging in all their vices.
Vivien wasn’t back from her evening yet. I finally broke down and texted our group thread after waiting for ten minutes.
You coming, Viv?
Ugh. I can’t today. I’m dealing with the BS.
These days, BS was synonymous for bullshitandblood suckers.
What now?
The dot dot dot of her texting appeared for a long time before the message downloaded.
One of the new baby vamps is having an emotional breakdown. I’ve been here most of the night trying to assure her immortality isn’t the worst thing in the world. Hard when she has a husband and kids. Had to hold the bitch back with my vamp powers to keep her from turning them too. Have a dollop of whipped cream on your coffee in my honor.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the trauma of being bitten and turned immortal without having a say in it.
But maybe it was for the best she wasn’t here. I’d been warring with myself on what or what not to share.
How could I tell her I couldn’t help but reach into the beast’s cage and touch him? How could I tell her I couldn’t figure out the monster, the man, or the god? How could I allow myself to share the excitement and anticipation fluttering in my stomach at the prospect of seeing him again tonight? It seemed so. . .silly? Awkward? Bizarre?
Don’t worry about it,I wrote Vivien back.Take care of baby vamps. That’s more important.
After another dot dot dot.More importantly, after my shower attack, Grim used his powers to float pillows to surround me before they bombarded me. That sonofabitch. I told him no powers allowed. Though now I’m thinking about mind controlling all baby vamps to attack him with pillows.
A smile threatened to disrupt the firm line of my lips. Aaron barked out a laugh. People were still waiting for coffee, but he’d clearly read the message on our group thread too. We traded a knowing look across the room. She was crazier than a squirrel’s nuts, but we loved her.
The clack of heels against the black marble floors jerked my attention away from my thoughts. A figure rounded the high wall of lush plants. A frothy pink robe, lined in feathers, fluttered all around a woman who looked like a pinup model from the 1940s. Flaxen blonde curls fell in a soft cloud around her perfectly beautiful cream face. The woman was the definition of femininity, and I’d met her before. The goddess, Hathor, otherwise known as Bianca, seemed to be on the hunt for someone or something.
When her crystalline blues alighted on me, I knew she’d found her target. My fingers curled around my coffee cup. Uh oh.
Before I could even guess as to why she was looking for me, Bianca floated into the seat across from me. The air carried her heavenly fragrance, a blend of cotton candy sweetness intertwined with the gentle essence of blooming flowers.
