Page 147 of Pareidolia

“Worry.” He whispers the word curiously. “You’re so cold most of the time. You taste like water that runs deep underground, in the caves. Droplets that haven’t seen the sun since this world was ruled by beasts… but when you worry, it tastes bitter.” Nox’s crimson stare feels like it’s tearing right through me as he watches me try to put together enough of my clothes to get dressed. If he keeps shredding everything I own, the only thing I’m going to have soon are my boots.

“You realize I’ve done things that could get a person thrown in prison, right? You watched me do them.”

He snorts, a low sound, like I said something funny instead of quietly confessing the one thing I do let myself worry about.

“There are no walls made by man that would keep me away from you, little monster. If humans tried to chain you, I’d teach them that their flesh is just a prison for their bones.” I pause halfway through picking up my pants, hiking one brow.

“Is that a love declaration?” It’s a tease, sarcasm mixed in with a taunt, because I don’t know how to react to what he just said… what he seems willing to do to keep me. I don’t know how to behave knowing this monster in the forest is capable of taking away the one thing that’s kept me from being myself my entire life.

“I know how to love just as much as you do, Aspen.”

I frown, pulling on my shredded pants and slipping my thankfully unscathed jacket on to take away the bitter sting of the cold.

“So, not at all.”

Nox stands in a fluid motion that’s more a ripple of shadow than an actual movement of muscle. His wings shift behind him, unfurling to their full size for a moment before dropping against his back. “I know what love tastes like, what the desire to feel it does to a human soul.”

Love.

Out of everything I’ve wanted to understand, that’s not an emotion I ever considered—love is something that requires honesty, being who you truly are.

What I am isn’t made for another person to love.

“What does it taste like?” I ask anyway, and I try to ignore why I want the answer from Nox when I hadn’t considered it before.

He closes the distance between us and wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me close while another threads through my hair and jerks my gaze back to meet his.

“Ask me again when you’re ready to admit I’m the only thing that can give you that answer.”

It’s strange, feeling his fingers tugging my hair and his claws digging into my waist while his other hands dip beneath my jacket to greedily grope the cuts on my skin. It’s even more strange when he stares at me, almost willing me to give him what he wants.

“I still can’t stay in Duskfen Forest for the rest of my life,” I finally answer, as a way of not answering at all. Nox’s arms slide away from me as he takes a step back.

“Why?” His genuine confusion would almost be funny, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s so sincere about it. Also, I’m pretty convinced he’d break my legs to keep me here if he really thought I was going to leave.

“I have to have a house. Somewhere with water… somewhere I can keep food. As much as you call me a monster, I have needs, Nox.” I zip my jacket up like it can somehow protect me from the way his red eyes scrutinize me for a moment before he nods.

“Mortal needs… so fragile, so… fleeting.” His eyes drop to the tattoo on my chest. It’s still now—whatever squirms beneath my flesh seems convinced I’m staying put. “Delicate, delicate…” Nox steps forward, and I tense at the way he looks me up and down like he’s trying to decide if he’s finished with me after all. He just crouches and comes up with the knife that I lost last night in the scuffle. He holds it out to me, and after a second I take it. I half expect him to wrap his arms around me and keep me in place.

He just lets me take the blade and carefully inspect it. It slid into his skin last night—it at least tried to tear him open.

It looks newer than the day I took it from Rory.

“Delicate… right. For now, my delicate ass is going back to the fire tower.” I carefully fold the knife and slip it into my shredded pocket. “I need to write.”

Nox’s eyes are still curious as he watches me. “Write about monsters. Killers… about fear.”

The last word sounds like a purr, pressing memories against my skin of the cool sweat I’d felt last night while running—the arousal that came with it.

Fear.

Right.

“Something like that.”

He stays standing in the clearing as I start to walk away, but I know it doesn’t mean anything.

He and I both know that with his shadows squirming in my chest, it’s not like I’m going to make it very far. I proved that last night.