Page 58

Sumner: It’s not my birthday.

I’m just settling onto the couch when his back-to-back response illuminates the room.

Rhenn: Yeah, I know that.

Rhenn: Consider it a late gift. Or an early one. I don’t actually know when you were born.

There’s an odd warmth that comes with his response. Not a turning point, but maybe a step in the right direction.

I squeeze the box in my hand, unwrapping it and lifting its lid. My entire heart stops when I see what’s inside—a silver pendant with two little words carved in the side. A smile forces its way across my lips, and I bring the necklace to my chest.

Rhenn got it back for me. Did he do this tonight? I’d spent hours digging through the thorn bushes trying to find it, coming back with nothing more than stinging cuts up and down my arms.

This is the best thing he could have gotten for me.

Snuggling under a small throw blanket, I type out my reply.

Sumner: Thank you.

I mean it more than he’ll ever know. This pendant signifies so much for me. It’s more than a reminder, it’s my last fragment of the guardian angel who gave it to me. Something I’ll cherish forever.

The screen glows softly, pulsing as he types. It stops, then starts again. This goes on for almost a minute before a response finally comes through.

Rhenn: Night, Vix.

I stare at the Thornlink for another minute, wondering what more he wanted to say.

Clicking on the new picture I have for his contact, I lean back into the cushions. I’d taken the photo earlier today when he was too distracted to notice. His normally stern features are softened. His eyes, usually guarded and distant, are bright and focused. The burden which surrounds him had momentarily shed in that moment. It reminds me there’s more than the antihero persona he portrays. A man and not a monster. At least, not always.

It seemed a waste not to take a picture documenting it.

I see him when I close my eyes, wondering what it is about him that makes my heart beat so much faster whenever he’s near. Why does it feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff every time he looks at me?

My mind flashes back to him and the faerie, the way he was holding her, how warm his hands must have felt. There’s a version of Rhenn I secretly desire. One who doesn’t exist in this life, but who comes to visit me late at night.

I run my fingers over my sides, imagining they’re his. Rough. Strong. They move to caress my waist, and my cheeks warm.

Breathing in, I let my legs slide down the length of the sofa, pulling on the string of my pajama pants so they loosen, and slip my hand beneath the fabric, knocking my link to the floor in the process.

Sometimes it’s hard being so distant and untrusting of the world. I’m closed off and calloused. I am also lonely, desperate for a connection I don’t believe in. I want what I’ve never had, someone to take care of me, to love me. I want to not be hurting anymore.

His lips brush over my lower stomach. My nipples peak against the cool air, and he rises higher, taking one into his mouth.

There was never any intimacy in the act of being with someone in this way. It was either taken or given without emotion. The stuff they show on TV, it isn’t accurate. There’s no love in the action.

But this, it isn’t real.

I rub faster, reaching for the pleasure I want him to bring me.

His ghost presses against me and I whimper, imagining something more than just my fingers.

To be wanted. Desired.

Heat grows in my belly. I rock my hips, biting down on my lip.

Fuck. Fuck.

My clit pulses and the door swings open.