Page 32 of These Tears

A nervous chuckle falls out of me. ‘You’re in custody, Elias.’ I yank my face away before I lose control of my tongue, considering my eyes have already betrayed me.

He grins, teeth white and wolfish. ‘I’ve got friends outside.’

‘Where were they when they caged you like a dog?’

And just like that, I shatter the moment. Smash it and stomp on it.

His smile dies.

The steel in his backbone returns. The cold that prickles my skin now suddenly seems to come from him.

Good going, Leah. Happy fucking birthday, Crane.

He lowers his hand.

‘Guard!’ he calls, voice ringing off concrete. ‘The lady’s ready to leave.’

My heart sinks.

The officer standing near the entrance stirs as if his ears were wired to respond to Crane’s voice alone.

I twist at the waist and jab a stiff finger at the uniform. ‘I’m done when I say I’m done!’

To my surprise, he stops. Gaze shifts to Crane, who’s trying – failing – to suppress a stunned smirk.

‘Truth for truth,’ I snarl at Elias.

Now those peach-coloured lips press thin. He doesn’t speak for a second, but I can already see it in his posture. There’s a sliver of honour wedged somewhere deep in his bones that no prison could rot away.

When he realises I’m not budging, he exhales and looks at the disaster beneath frosting still in my hand. ‘Cake first?’

Mum always called me impulsive. Dad said I’d break something if I kept doing things before thinking.

So in the grand tradition of Leandra Nottingham, I drive two fingers into the side of the cake, tear off a chunk, and shove it straight into his mouth.

His eyes widen as he coughs once, crumbs tumbling onto his lap with a bit of the frosting smearing the side of his cheek. There’s a muffled chuckle from the guard as Elias flails to keep the rest of it from falling all over him, one palm beneath his chin.

When he finally catches the bite between his teeth – and my fingers are a fraction too slow to retreat – his tongue grazes the pad of one.

My body locks up.

His too.

His eyes lift to mine while the tip of his tongue is still there.

I can’t tell whether the contact was accidental. It’s such a small one, but it sends me careening from heaven to hell and back.

The summer air isn’t helping with the heat that pinches at my cheeks.

‘Yum. Vanilla and sweat,’ he murmurs as he swallows the piece.

I know it’s a jab, but I welcome the reprieve. Especially now that a slow ache has settled low in my belly.

‘What about my wish?’ he asks.

‘The candle’s not lit.’ I narrow my eyes at him.

He grins.