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Elijah’s fingers twine with mine, and we walk that way for hours, linked together. He helps me up steep paths and over forest channels; and when he catches me, I feel that heat building and building in the pit of my stomach, sensation crackling across my skin like hot coals. I don’t know if something is wrong with me or if this is just what desire feels like.
The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m intent on giving into it.
“Have you been to Austin before?” I ask.
“Never made it this far south,” he says. “After we left Waco ten years ago, we veered west to El Paso. There was resistance on the border, and we…”
He pauses.
“Do you want to hear this?”
I inhale deeply, biting my lip. “Do you want to tell me?”
He squeezes my hand. “Maybe one day.”
Maybe one day. It’s future talk—the third time he’s done it today, making me feel a strange sense of apprehension and exhilaration and a million things in between.
“I’m guessingyou’venever been,” he says, his eyes flicking to mine.
“No,” I say. “But my family used to live here before the Infernal Legion leveled the city and the Heavenly Host built a weapons facility on top of it.”
“I thought your grandparents were Dallas natives.”
“They are, but my folks lived in Austin, and San Antonio for a time,” I tell him. “I don’t really know much about what they did, but we have lots of photos of the old city in our house.”
He gives me a strange look, his head cocking to the side and his eyes narrowing.
“What?” I ask, a little annoyed.
“Nothing,” he says with a shake of his head. “I guess I’m just wondering if you plan on going back there. To Dallas, I mean.”
I think about it for a moment, never letting go of Elijah. I’m wearing a new set of clothes that don’t fit me, carrying a backpack full of strangers’ belongings, and a violin that’s damaged beyond repair.
And this morning, Elijah kissed me where I’ve barely even touched myself, and I liked it.
And I’ll ask him to do it again.
Andagain.
I’m not the girl I was when I left that house four days ago.
“No,” I say. “I don’t think I will.”
?
The day drags on as the sun meanders its way across the red sky.
Cicadas begin their evening song, a lullaby for the Texas hills. Elijah holds me closer as the light fades, and when he curls an arm around my shoulders, I feel the heat build in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my extremities. It’s almost like I’m sick, feverish with need, wanting desperately to run my hands over his smooth, muscled body, to feel the weight of him in my palm.
He ducks his head to mine, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We’ll make camp soon,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I shake my head. “I’m not that tired.”
“It’s not your exhaustion I’m worried about.” He lowers his voice to a raspy growl, the sound resonating from where my shoulder makes contact with his chest. “It’s your scent, darlin’.”
“Do I smell bad?” I ask, mortified.
“No, you smell fucking delicious,” he chuckles.
