Right here, I get my wish. Right here, I get everything.
But it’s wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I crashed this masquerade for a different reason, to spy on these Faeries, to watch him from afar. I’ve botched that up.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
I tear myself from Cerulean’s arms. I catch his astonishment seconds before I race from the dance floor. Slamming past gorgeous wings and ghastly visors, I plow through the ballroom and fly into the nearest passage.
The lane condenses into a bushy path. A fountain spits water. One of the warblers trills, burnished quills flap, and a set of claws fastens on to a bough.
The channel dumps me at a curtained doorway. I charge through it and stumble into the original corridor, except I enter from a different threshold. Muffled giggles trail from the masquerade. I scurry from the noise, locate another arched doorway, and hustle past its curtain.
As with all these drapes, the material blocks out titters coming from the hall. I barrel into a pocket of space so pitch black I can’t see a damn thing, not even my hand when I lift it and wiggle my fingers. Based on the absence of noise, and how loudly my heaving breaths thunk through this abyss, I wager it’s a cramped quarter.
My back presses into the grid of twigs and shrubs beside the curtain. Then I whirl and plant my palms on the lattice, my head falling against the entwined offshoots. “Fuck,” I hiss, the word trembling from my lips.
I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to stay.
The wind strokes my back, and the scent of musk and tempests floats into my nostrils. An incense brewed from the sky.
A lithe shape moves across the ground. Clothes rustle, boot heels clank atop the floor, and a weight fills the room.
Tension seizes my waist. I know male bodies. This one pauses from behind me, his heat swarming me as his arm slips past my chest, the fabric scraping my bodice.
I go as still as a hare, recognizing the sound of him. Then his finger rests against my lips, as if I’d planned on speaking.
“Shh,” Cerulean whispers.
26
Hell no, I don’t shh. Not even close.
I roar, howl, and wail. That’s what my heart does, letting loose from the cell of my chest.
As for my mouth, it unleashes a disjointed gasp, my nerves cutting through the space.
I remind myself of the difference between then and now, the gap between his morals and mine, the chasm between his world and my mine. Then I follow the current of his voice and wheel in his arms. My breasts strain across his torso, the taut bodice and gaping shirt mash together, and I imagine them getting as rumpled as the rest of him.
He’s the sky, without limits or restrictions. He’s omniscient, knowing and seeing everything.
With only one exception: me.
He didn’t know who I was. Not until now.
In spite of the dark, I feel the weight of his eyes. For once, he doesn’t use the wind to touch me, because the contact is instinctual, magnetic instead of elemental. My lips tingle, parting and beckoning his gaze.
Through the slits in my lark visor, my own gaze searches for his lips. As I do, shallow pants rush from his mouth, the sound coarse around the edges.
We’ve been in this position before. Last time, we stood above the world, exposed by that infinite landscape. Tonight, we’re crushed together, ensconced in a cube of black.
No sound. No sights. No smells. No tastes. No textures.
Every possible distraction recedes. My senses narrow to one reality: Cerulean.
The taste of him on my tongue—blackthorn wine and rainfall. His abdomen flexing with oxygen. His loose shirt teasing the weave of my gown.
I shouldn’t be able to tell if he’s absorbing me in the same way, but maybe that link solves the problem, because I know the moment his tapered ears perk as my skirt licks the floor. Succinctly, I hear his nostrils broaden to inhale me. I’ve never felt so livid, so heartbroken, so chaotic.
Our condensed breaths and combined movements resound in my ears, louder than they should be. Out of nowhere, his knuckles ride across my jaw. I lean into the warm ridges, tilting my head into his touch.
