Page 48 of Too Hexed to Handle

As if on cue, some of the clearing’s other occupants moan loudly. I let out my own sigh, but this one is bred of pure envy, not lust.

‘I want to do what they’re doing,’ I whine, lying back. My head thwacks against the grass, sending the war drums rattling around my skull. ‘Ow.’

‘Focus, Dais.’ Astin crawls towards me, which is unexpected in itself, and then he lowers himself on top of me. I have no idea what this is going to achieve. I wriggle, but all this does is increase my awareness of his weight on me, the press of his hips against mine, the press of something else, something heavy, against my middle.

I gasp. ‘Astin . . .’

He shifts, which does little to refocus my mind from what I just felt. ‘Stop moving. This way you can’t go off and kiss anyone.’

‘That doesn’t help, because the only person I want to kiss here is you.’

We both freeze at the same time. It appears my ability to keep my secrets got lowered along with my inhibitions. My words shouldn’t be a surprise after my jacket-removing behaviour, but something about admitting he’s the only person I want adds a layer of vulnerability to the situation, like the words have cracked open a piece of my chest and allowed him to see the word Astin woven into my heart.

‘Because of my tolerance, I mean. I know you better than them. That’s all. It’s not that I’d want to . . . I’ve never . . . Under normal circumstances I would not. Not with you. Obviously.’ I cut myself off before I can say anything else inherently stupid. I suspect my babbling hasn’t improved the situation.

‘Right,’ he says, utterly disbelieving.

I wriggle again. ‘This position isn’t a good idea.’

‘Is there one you prefer?’

‘Astin.’ I lightly smack his arm. ‘You can’t keep doing this. You can’t go around talking to me about positions and act like you didn’t the next morning.’

He frowns. ‘I have never done that before.’

‘No, but you danced with me like . . .’ I huff. ‘It doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is, I think about these things more than you do, and it’s not fair.’

His eyes search mine, his brow still furrowed. I’m aware of every point our bodies touch; that, in actual fact, I like this position too much.

‘Dais . . .’ His voice is hoarse. ‘If I let myself think about that dance, I won’t stop thinking about it. And I can’t afford to do that.’ Before I can ask why, his thumb skims the side of my face before coming to rest on my lower lip. ‘The same way I can’t think about your hex, and all the things it stops us doing.’

I suck in a breath. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I?’ He parts my lips, and I flick out my tongue to taste the salt and sweat on his skin. ‘As soon as you told me, my first thought was how I’ll never get to . . .’

He presses his mouth to my cheek. A fleeting touch that leaves me breathless, light-headed. I grip the ends of his shirt, twisting the fabric, arching my body into him, greedy for all the contact I can get, even with the knowledge this is dangerous. Letting his thumb near my lips was stupid and reckless, because I’ve no idea what will trigger my hex, but apparently the moment Astin starts thinking about things, he starts doing them, because he’s not stopping, his mouth trailing along my jaw and finding a sensitive patch of skin beneath my ear. He places another kiss there, sending shivers down my spine.

‘Astin, you shouldn’t . . .’ I have to force the words out, partly because I’m struggling for air and partly because I don’t want to say them at all. I’m denying myself everything I want. ‘You said you weren’t affected.’

‘I said I could control it,’ he corrects me. ‘Not that I’m not . . . In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have an urge to go after anyone else in this maze either. Just you.’

‘Just me,’ I echo.

‘Just you.’

Oh. Oh.

We stare at one another. Exhilaration rushes through me. I was right. We have both built up an immunity, and now the powder is only able to find long-felt feelings buried beneath and raise them to the surface. A wave of joy rises in my chest, because Astin feels the same as I do.

And it changes nothing.

The wave is knocked to shore, crumpling in on itself with the realisation it’s meaningless. In fact, knowing he feels this way makes it worse, because he’s here in my grasp, and I still can’t have him.

‘You’ve stopped smiling,’ he whispers. ‘I wish you wouldn’t. When you smile, it’s like . . . time stops.’

I need him to stop. To stop talking, to stop dangling the carrot. I’m a Souleater. I’m everything he hates. I’m hexed to kill anyone I kiss. We’re supposed to be finding a way to open the statue. This shouldn’t be happening for a multitude of reasons, and yet I find myself holding him tighter, like if I can clutch him close enough, I can be his shield from all the parts of me I don’t want him to see.

‘And your eyes . . . they’re the colour of cornflowers, did you know that? And you have this cute button nose. Plus, your hair . . .’ He trails his hand through strands that I suspect are too messy to be in receipt of the amount of reverence they’re currently receiving. ‘It’s so soft and golden. I love gold.’