Did she let me hold her? I’m desperate to know. After that horrid walk from the augur house, did she find me? Did she tell me what happened? Did she let me hold her like she is now?
Cora sobs against my chest, her hands loosening just enough to grab my shirt. I lift her, cupping beneath her thighs until she wraps her legs around my waist. Unlike before, there’s nothing sexual in my touch. I just hold her as close as physically possible, letting her cry against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her hair. Again and again, until I’m crying too.
I wakewith sunlight on my face. It’s early morning, but it’s light enough that the vampires will be trapped inside. The other predators—the werewolves and Nectoa—should be home, asleep. We should be up by now. We’ve got hours between us and the Cursed Grounds, and I only packed for two more nights of sleep.
I make no move to leave. I only shift Cora farther onto my chest, letting her breath tickle my neck. When she shifts, burrowing closer, her lips brush my collarbone.
I don’t remember falling asleep last night. I only remember holding her and letting her cry.
Now, I’m dizzy with the sensation of her skin pressed against mine. It’s beyond my control, the flashes of last night that flicker through my mind. Images of Cora straddling my lap, moaning and gasping against my kisses. I’d been ready to fuck her. I would have. I would have fucked her until she only knew my name and the feel of my cock stretching her cunt.
“You’re hard,” she whispers against my neck.
I startle, twisting my head to look down at her. I have no idea when she woke up, only that her brown eyes are now open and wholly focused on my pants. The outline of my erection is fully visible. When her hand brushes against it, a shock of pleasure rocks through my entire body. I jolt like I’ve been burned, and Cora immediately pulls back.
She lifts her chin to look at me.
Her lips are so close, it would take minimal movement for me to taste them. To suck her pouty lower lip between mine until she begged for more. I’m just not sure if that’s appropriate, if she’d even want me to.
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?” she asks. Her gaze flickers to my pants, then back to me. “I don’t mind.”
“I’m not…” I trail off, unsure what to say. My throat feels thick and dry, but I’m having a hard time explaining the thoughts in my head. “I don’t want you to think…after last night…I’m not trying…”
“I was raped, Elliot.” Her voice is quiet, but her tone is more resigned than anything else. “It was terrible, and everything that followed was terrible too. What Harrison did changed the trajectory of my life, but it’s stillmylife. I am not ruined. I am not broken. I am okay.”
“I know,” I say. “I know, Cora. It’s just—it’s hard for me tothink straight. I want tokillhim. He’s dead, and I still want to kill him.”
Cora looks away, eyes drifting to the top of the tent. Her breath is steady, eyes clear.
“A couple nights ago, I started watching some of my old memories,” she says. “I didn’tjusttake yours, Elliot. I took mine too, because after I left…it was hard. It was awful being without you.”
Then why did you?I want to ask.Why would you do that to yourself, to us?
I don’t let myself speak. I force myself to slow, to feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine. My erection has died, but I still feel the high of her closeness. This moment is as close to perfection as I’ve ever felt, and I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to askmeto leave.
“I’ve watched several in the past few days,” she goes on. “I kept them. Can I show you some of my favorites?”
And so, we do.
One by one, Cora pulls a memory strand from her temple and drops it onto the memory stone. We sit with our shoulders pressed together, fading in and out of her teenage memories. These ones all feature me, and unlike the one from last night, they aregood.
From her perspective, I watch the first time we kiss. The first time I sneak into her bedroom with a piece of cake to share. The first time I try to hold her hand in public, and she quietly shakes her head. The many times we meet at the haunted tree at Ochre Primary School. Sometimes to kiss. Sometimes to talk about the future or our hobbies or whatever gossip exists in that moment.
Every time, I watch my face heat with embarrassment. Objectively, fifteen-year-old me is terrible at pursuing the girl he likes. He blushes every time he talks to her, all the way up to hisears. He trips over his words. He’s awkward and dorky and so transparently smitten. Yet somehow, young Cora doesn’t see it.
Can’t you tell?I wish I could ask her.He’s enamored with you. He’s desperate for you.
Even when sixteen-year-old Elliot tells her he’s in love with her, that she’s everything he’s ever wanted, she doesn’t believe him. She assumes his affection is fleeting. I haven’t seen the memory from my perspective. There’s so many things I stilldon’t know, and yet, I know.
We come out of the memory, and Cora busies herself with the stone. She carefully returns this memory—a sharp pink shade—to her mind. Then, she straightens the stone’s ingredients and readies for another. Instead, I gently grab her wrist, stopping her. She looks at me, mouth parted in surprise.
“He meant it,” I tell her.
“What?”
