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“What if, in generations of times from now, one slips through the cracks?” I asked, genuinely concerned for the future Swan, as there was a high chance there will be plenty. But whether any survive will be a different story. I do hope someone in this cult shows compassion at one point and saves her.
“Then she will grow to wish she was never born.”
“Well, you got that right, fucker,” I murmur, closing the book and sliding it back under my bed. I sure do fucking wish I was never born sometimes, but what did he mean by that? Why was he so sure that if any of them made it out alive, they would wish they were never born? I could say it was just Humphrey and his cocky character, but something about his certainty throws me off. My head pounds, reminding me of my long night, and I slide off the bed, dragging my overly tired ass to the bathroom.
Turning on the faucet, I wait for the water to warm up to a scalding heat and slide in. Squeezing some shampoo into the palm of my hand, I throw it into my hair and scrub, letting the soapsuds rain over my skin. I’m lost in thoughts of the latest finding in The Book when the bathroom door swings open, and the curtain gets ripped away, revealing Nate standing there, no shirt on with gray sweat pants.
“Nate!” I scream, covering my private bits. “Get the fuck out!”
He doesn’t say anything, his pupils are dilated, and his chest is heaving as he takes in deep breaths.
“Have you been running?” I ask, totally off subject but finally noticing the glistening of sweat covering his skin. Reaching for my towel, I still keep my eyes locked on his to make sure he doesn’t cop a look, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me, his eyes looking between each of mine intently, like he’s searching for something important. Answers, maybe, answers I can’t give him.
“Nate!” I repeat when the awkward silence gets too much. Grasping the towel, I quickly wrap it around myself. Feeling more secure now that I’m not butt-naked, I reach up and touch the side of his cheek. “What’s wrong?” I care about Nate, I do. More than I like to admit it, but I do. I’ve always had an inkling of feelings for him deep down, and though I squash them and bring it down to him being my brother, I can’t help it. My heart aches when his does and beats when he’s happy. Whether that’s what usually happens when you have a brother, I don’t know—I wouldn’t know. The feelings are new to me, so I’m still trying to work them out.
His eyes close once my palm touches his cheek, a small breath hissing between his teeth. His abs tense, every muscle in his body looking overworked. “Nate?” I whisper again, getting out of the shower so my body is flush up against his. He’s almost a good foot taller than me, so I look up to him. “Talk to me.”
He wraps his arm around my back and pulls me into his chest. Reaching down, he brushes off a few strands of hair that were stuck to my face. “I… can’t—fuck!” He lashes out at the end. “Who?”
“Who what?” I answer, even though I know I’m playing with fire. I’ve not seen Nate quite this dark before, and though it’s terrifying, I know with more certainty than I do about Bishop that he would never hurt me.
“Don’t.” His voice is sharp, full of dominance. That simple word twisting my heart into two.
“I told Bishop I don’t know his name. All I know is that he called me Silver.”
Nate tilts his head, his eyebrows pulling in as the wheels start to turn in his head. “Silver?” His other arm comes behind me so he has me locked in both now. “As in the Silver Swan? As in he’s a motherfucking King?”
“I don’t know what he is or who he is, Nate. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
That sobers him a little, his features relaxing for the first time since he stormed in here. “You know,” I murmur, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, “one of these days you’re going to need to stop storming into the bathroom while I’m showering.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a small smirk, showing one of his dimples. “Yeah, I guess one of these days I will. But not today, or tomorrow, or even next month.” The cushion of his thumb traces along the bottom of my lip. His eyes zone in on the motion, and in the back of my brain, I know what’s about to happen.
My breathing shallows, my chest constricting. I want to make him feel better. I hate that he’s so worked up over something that has to do with me. Something he shouldn’t feel worked up over because I buried it long ago. Closing my eyes, I inch up on my tippy toes and press my lips to his. He stills at first. A couple of seconds pass, and he still hasn’t relaxed, so I go to pull away, only his hand comes to the back of my neck, stopping me. He pushes my lips into his more and opens slightly, his tongue licking across my bottom lip. My stomach flips, my flesh sparking to life from the connection, and I pull him in more. Our kissing turns hot and needy, and in a second, he’s whipped the towel from my body, his hands gripping around the back of my thighs and lifting me off my feet.
