Page 48

For the first time since the maglis, something like a voice tickled my ear. “I want to forget.”

Forget what? Instead of answering I pushed myself harder against him, the cloth of my nightgown riding up my legs as I tried to rub myself against something more fabric than flesh.

“Not enough,” I grumbled in some chimera language, the sleek image of my violin mixing with his.

He pulled me closer, kissing me once more as my face was consumed by touches that were too light. No matter how closer I tried to pull him or how much it felt like he was here, it wasn’t enough.

I pushed him down on the bed, his long pale gold strands spread everywhere like an army of unraveled bows. “I want you.”

I pushed myself against where his pelvis should have been, but was unable to find where his clothing began and ended. In frustration, I pushed myself against him, taking the shallow teasing caresses rather than nothing at all.

He pushed me away and when I squirmed, trying to get closer, rubbed his thumb over both my hands in his. I didn’t know what he did, but my body cooled and lust faded.

I glanced once more at my violin and then back at him. “What did you do?”

He did not answer me, instead breathing roughly in a way that had his cheeks flushed and made my fingers twitch at the thought of seeing this man unravel. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. He wasn’t even human, but just once I wanted to ride him as he screamed my name in sweet symphony.

“Do you find me pretty?” His voice was scratchy and rough, a stark contrast to the deep and gentle lilt he used on that night we danced together.

“You can speak?” I asked, the sound of it had me leaning in just to hear a little bit more.

“I could always speak.” He paused. “But today is different. Before when I came to you some force was cutting off my vocal chords, but now I find whatever was holding it was is gone.”

“Why?” I asked, marveling at how our breathes mingled into one. If I tried, would he let me kiss him again?

“Only the Gods know. Regardless, you haven’t answered my question.”

“Question?” I furrowed my brows. Why were we talking instead of kissing?

“Yes,” he said. “Do you find me pretty?”

I looked at him, really looked at him. He was pale. Even when we danced, he was pale, but now the golds and browns and colors which made up his flesh were diluted. Even his features that I had remembered to be handsome—so handsome that it was like someone had taken all my secret preferences and carved them out of stone and ice—were vague. I could just barely make out two eyes, a nose, mouth and the little things that made a face, but the longer I tried to hold onto his features, the more they faded.

“Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“I heard you.” To distract myself from the way his lips moved, I mentally recited basic melodies.

“Then what’s your answer?”

“Wynorrific,” I said. “If I had to use a word to describe you it would be wynorrific.”

“Whinorr-what?” He looked down at his hands and then back at me. “That word isn’t from your native language.”

“No, it’s from English.”

“Ingleezy?”

A vague memory of looking at my social media and seeing someone use that word to describe my music flitted through my mind. There was someone next to me, but when I tried to hold onto the memory and see who it was, it was snatched away.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“It’s an adjective used to describe something both terrifying and beautiful.”

“Terrifying and beautiful.” His Arabic flowed naturally, even if I couldn’t remember the exact dialect we were speaking in. He started laughing. “What am I supposed to do?” His large fingers covered the top half of his face. “You’re just so perfect that I don’t know if I want to dissect you or keep you close.”

Before I could even think of a reaction, he was gone.

“Was I just threatened?” I shook my head, clearing my senses of whatever overcame me.