Page 81 of Cursebreaker

I would give anything to hear that laugh again.

“Actually,” he tells me, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, “it was the other way around.”

“Do tell!”

And he does. He tells me the story, then another. I tell him about the first fish I ever caught. He tells me about the time he tried to hug a dolphin. I tell him about the day I knocked out Lewis’s front teeth with a spoon—“Baby teeth!” I insist, but we’re both laughing so hard we’re wheezing for breath, and Titus is clutching his abdomen, begging me to stop.

He tells me about how Gabriel, Flynn, and Eliza stowed away on the Starchaser during his first year as captain. “We were just kids,” he says with a wistful sigh. But his eyes darken, and I can tell his thoughts have gone to Will—to their friendship. To his betrayal, not just of him—but of the Cooper siblings as well.

I almost reach for his hand, curling into a fist atop the table, but before I can, he’s on his feet, his back to me, making his way to the gramophone. A moment later, music fills the room, slower than the muffled tune Rook plays just outside.

Titus crosses the room to me once more, his expression unreadable as he bows, extending his hand.

A roguish grin touches his lips. “Care to dance?”

My heart nearly tumbles out of my chest. I’m reminded, instantly, of the day Captain Shade held out his hand to me atop the gallows in the town square, when I first arrived in the Eerie. Then, he offered me safety. Freedom.

Now he offers me something else—something much more terrifying. Something I’ve never allowed myself to hope for.

And yet, I don’t hesitate to take his hand.

Heat flares in his eyes, as if I’d answered more than just his request for a dance.

His hand shakes as it presses against the small of my back, and I place my hand atop his shoulder, noting the tension coiled in his muscles there. Every point of contact burns. Agonizing. Exhilarating. Electric.

“I’ve asked Gabriel to remain on standby,” he says, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. “In case my toes need emergency care.”

I pinch his shoulder. He smiles.

Our eyes meet, and I can’t ever imagine looking away.

Softly, I whisper, “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

He frowns, his fingers curling at my back. “I wish I could do more,” he murmurs. “One day, I hope you’ll give me the chance.”

I rest my cheek on his chest, and I think he might stop breathing. “I’d like that.”

His deep exhale warms the top of my head, and the tension in his shoulders seems to melt. As we sway, his thumb brushes the base of my spine, and it feels as if he’d struck a match.

I try to distract myself from the heat clawing its way up my neck. In the dancing firelight, I study the patchwork of tattoos that ink his forearms.

“Why the moth?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He’s silent for a long moment. “It was my first tattoo,” he answers finally. “That painting—the one in the Queen’s Court—I used to sneak in there, lie on the floor… I would have stared at it all day if I could.” A muscle in his jaw feathers. “It was like every time I looked at it, I saw something I hadn’t seen before. But there was this—this knight in silver armor. On the center of his helm was a moth. And there was an inscription, almost impossible to read, but I could just barely make out the words.”

His eyes glaze with a memory, and I fear he won’t continue.

“What did it say?” I prompt gently.

When his eyes focus again, he searches my gaze, his brows nettled. “Those who seek the light, create it.”

I think of the moth, tattooed at the base of my spine, where Titus’s thumb rubs small, intentional circles.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Please.”

“Why did I bite you?”