Page 72 of These Immortal Truths
With the position she’s in, partially dressed and pressed against the wall, it shouldn’t be slow—shouldn’t be romantic—but it is. Anna can feel his body flexing against her with every thrust; can feel the self-control straining his back and shoulders beneath her palms. Her nails bite into his skin, and he groans against her mouth, soft praises spilling from his lips between panting breaths. Her ears catch some, but not all.
“Wanted you for so long … I can’t remember what it feels like without you under my skin … how will I ever go on without wanting more of you?”
There’s a pressure building, a coil tightening, that has her keening as he rocks against her, but his eyes ground her. Hold her steady. There’s a tremble in her limbs, an ache begging for release, but she can feel his hand clenching at her hip, hear the desperation in his every moaning breath, and knows they’re climbing together.
Then his other hand slides between their bodies, his head dropping to her shoulder as his fingers stroke her. He chokes on a whisper. “Anna.”
She comes apart with a cry, every nerve singing and every thought spread everywhere and nowhere all at once. It is only his lips, gentle and pliant against her own gasping mouth, that pulls the pieces of her back together. The brief feeling of emptiness as he slides out, made right only by the caress of his hands along the planes of her back as he carries her to the bed.
The dress is gone before she meets the sheets. She stares up at him, his soft dark curls tumbling over his shoulder and his eyes so dark they reach new shades of blue. He is so hopelessly beautiful, she should have realized how doomed she was the moment she saw him the way he saw himself. Her hand traces the outline of his face, sighing when he turns to kiss the inside of her wrist.
“Stay,” she says. An order, a wish. She’s still so tangled with the stars that she’s not sure when she’ll come down, but she knows she wants him to be there when she does. “Don’t go.”
He sighs, resting his forehead against her own. Their noses brush. “Tonight,” he answers. A promise and a warning.
Tonight, because always isn’t an option.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She is everything he wants and better than he dreamed. A brush of her lips and the aching weight of the world is forgotten. A smile or a laugh is a balm to every bruise and fracture marring his soul. Then she looks up at him, begs him for the one thing he dares not give, and he is reminded of how fragile the peace they’ve found really is.
NEWYORK, UNITEDSTATES
SUMMER1920
His visits become more frequent.
Sometimes he stays with her for days, other times he’ll be gone for weeks. When he returns to her after those long stretches, he is teeth and tongue, invisible bruises in the shape of fingertips. His hunger feeds her own, and her desperation feeds his until they are an endless loop of tangled limbs and moaning sighs. Afire that builds and rages, until they are both spent and lie amongst the warmth of the embers they leave behind.
Khiran’s fingers trace patterns on her naked skin, follow the line of her spine and the dip of her waist. Sometimes his lips follow, soft and leisurely, as if to remind her they have all the time in the world, and Anna feels those embers fan back into a flame.
Today, she is the one with wandering hands. Her head rests on her folded arm, her fingers tracing the subtle lines of his lean chest and eyes following the path of her touch. He is as flawless as anyone with the ability to shift shapes can be. No blemishes, no scars.
Except for one.
Star-shaped and raised, there’s a scar the length of her finger puckering the skin along his lower left rib. She’s seen it before, only briefly, on one of his other forms. She had thought it was just part of the illusion, but she’s sure he wouldn’t have carried it over to this body if it was. Anna follows its outline with a gentle touch, curiosity growing the longer she stares at it. When he doesn’t offer the information, she lets the question fall from her lips. “Where did this come from?”
Khiran hums, eyes closed and sounding as if fighting sleep. He looks so content, he reminds her of a cat soaking up a sun-filled window. “It was a small price.”
His answer is far too vague. Anna frowns, her hand stilling and her eyes narrowing. “How long have you had it?”
His laugh is soft and full of secrets. “Sometimes it feels like forever.” Taking her hand in his own, he coaxes her palm flush against his skin until the ring on her finger lines up with the scar tissue beneath. “Sometimes forever doesn’t feel long enough.”
The ring looks up at her, pale against his skin. Bone. The ring is made of bone.
Anna’s eyes snap to his, heart stuttering in her chest. “Khiran—”
He runs a thumb over the engravings that time could never seem to touch. “I needed something to connect us. To know when you had need of me.” He brings her hand to his lips, kissing her palm. “It’s crude, old magic. Less glitz and glam and more blood and bone, butit was born of me and me alone and that’s what mattered. It ensured that you would remain safe.”
She sits up on her elbow, a frown pulling at her brow. “Safe?”
His fingers fiddle with the bit of bone while he measures his answer. “There are others. More than just Eira and … Silas, I believe you called him? Not all of them carry mercy in their hearts.” He taps the ring with an elegant finger. “This hides you from their sight.”
Mesmerized, she draws her hand back, looking over the piece of jewelry with new eyes. It’s the one thing she’s always had with her, the one thing she carried from place to place, life to life. It’s become a part of her as much as he has. “Why would they want to hurt me?”
“Not you,” he murmurs. “Me.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, fingertips tracing the line of her jaw. “They would use you to punish me. It would work.”
Anna’s heart quickens, understanding taking root. “That’s why you were worried when you first saw Silas.”
