Instead, she pulls me down with her. "I choose you," she says. "Now choose me back."
"I already have. Every moment since you pointed at me in that warehouse."
She smiles. Real and bright and devastating. "Then show me."
Tomorrow, we face death. Tonight, we choose life.
YORIKA
"Then show me."
The words hang between us for a heartbeat before he moves. Not the desperate rush of our encounter against the wall, but deliberate, careful. His weight settles over me, solid in a way he hasn't been for days. Every point of contact between us makes him more real. My hands on his shoulders, my legs around his waist, my mouth against his. Each touch anchors him to existence.
I taste wine on his tongue, that impossible music-flavor mixing with something uniquely him. Steel and winter and the space between stars. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans into my mouth, and the vibration resonates through my chest.
"You're wearing too many clothes," I murmur against his lips.
"So are you."
I push at his shirt. It dissolves into shadow at my touch, reforming somewhere else, leaving his chest bare. His skin is pale as moonlight, with veins of darkness pulsing beneath the surface. Not blood vessels but channels of void, beautiful andalien. I trace one with my finger from his throat to his heart. He shudders, his form solidifying further.
"That's cheating," I say about the disappearing clothes.
"Efficient," he corrects, then proves it by making my shirt vanish the same way.
The cold air makes me gasp, but his hands are warm. When did they become warm? He touches me like I'm something precious, fingers tracing the marks he left on my skin. They pulse silver at his touch, sending heat straight through me.
"These are beautiful," he says, following a pattern across my ribs.
"They're yours."
"No." He looks up at me, eyes burning gold. "They're ours."
I pull him down for another kiss, harder this time. My teeth catch his lower lip, and he makes a sound that's not quite human. Shadow tendrils manifest around us, not touching yet, but present. Waiting.
"Use them," I tell him.
"Yorika."
"I want all of you. Not just the parts that look human."
The tendrils move instantly. They wrap around my wrists, gentle but firm, pulling my arms above my head. Others trace patterns on my skin, cold and electric. One slides between my breasts, another coils around my thigh. They're everywhere and nowhere, teasing without satisfying.
"Is this what you want?" His voice is darker now, less human.
"More."
He kisses my throat, teeth scraping skin. "Greedy."
"Yes."
My remaining clothes disappear. His too. The full skin contact makes us both gasp. He's larger than any human should be, proportioned for his seven-foot frame. The ridgesI remember from our first time are more pronounced now, fascinating and intimidating at once.
"You're staring," he says against my collarbone.
"You're imposing."
"Concerned?"
