I handed him the note days ago, but I haven’t seen him since.
When I discussed this with Isis, she told me he would come. She had no doubts. But I’m not so certain.
So, as I stand at the window, watching the rain fall and the autumn sky start to darken, I begin to convince myselfthat he’s not going to come. And I tell myself that I won’t be upset about it. I won’t hold it against him—just like I said in the letter.
Far off, thunder rumbles, and I draw a steadying breath, feeling the storm in my veins.
Then, so softly I almost don’t hear it, there’s a knock at the door.
I turn from the window.
It could be anyone, I think as I pad in bare feet across the cool wooden floor.Maybe the innkeeper bringing linens or extra wood for the fire.
My hand hesitates on the door handle. I draw another breath.
Then I pull the door open.
And everything inside me simultaneously squeezes and relaxes.
Severin stands there, his midnight eyes catching the light from the fire behind me, his crisp jacket collar turned up against the cold. He doesn’t smile when he sees me. Instead, he wears a stoic expression, like maybe he’s walking into an execution rather than a fire-warmed room at an inn.
It makes me smile, just a little. Because this is exactly the Severin I’ve come to know.
Without a word, I step out of his way, holding the door open.
He hesitates at the threshold, like he’s having to decide one more time if he’s going to go through with this. I hold my breath, waiting.
Then he steps into the room. I close the door behind him with a soft click.
We stand in the quiet, the only sound the tap of rain against the windows and the crackle and hiss of the fire I lit in the hearth.
He has his back to me now, his shoulders bunched up a bit, hands in fists at his sides. I wait.
Without turning to look at me, he says softly, “Are you certain about this?”
My blood pumps a little harder, excitement and nervousness twirling through me. Severin draws a breath and turns his head, just slightly, as if he can smell the shift in me.
I lift my head a hair higher. “Yes.” The word comes out with gentle conviction. “I’m sure.”
The air between us tightens. Even without Severin turning around, I can detect the change in him, the hesitation turning to resignation.
But I don’t want him to resign himself to this. I want him to want it, just like I do.
“Do you want this?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, his gaze goes to the far window. His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. I don’t speak.
Then, after a drawn-out silence, he whispers, “More than I’ve wanted anything in centuries.”
A tingle dances down my spine.
That’s all the answer I need.
I twist the lock on the door, and the muscles in Severin’s jaw twitch with the sound of the tumbler falling into place.
Crossing to him on quiet feet, I reach out, let my fingertips drift across his long black jacket. It’s speckled with rain and still cold to the touch. Slowly, I reach around him, undoing theclasps down the front, then ease it from his shoulders. While I hang the jacket on the coatrack, Severin stands still.
As I look at him from across the room, I get the feeling he’s like my energy sphere.
