Page 45 of Folds
In that muted light, he appears behind me.
For a disorienting heartbeat, my mind refuses to reconcile what I am seeing with what I know.
Rowan has never looked like this.
His skin is impossibly pale and smooth, looking closer to polished marble than anything that has ever felt the sun. It makes a stark, beautiful contrast against the rich, deep brown hair that falls across his forehead in heavy, silk-like waves. Far too familiar. Yet not quite right.
The eyes force me to accept what I can’t believe is possible. I have seen those eyes a hundred times, warm and softened by laughter. Now, they are much closer to the surface of a frozen pond, with danger beneath them. Even so, it’s unmistakably Rowan.
This new eerie quality to his handsomeness makes it difficult to breathe. Every feature is too symmetrical, too perfect to be entirely human.
Rowan is tall, at least 6’3, and he always makes me feel short, but right now his height is imposing, alarmingly so. The high, sharp line of his cheekbones and the firm, clean set of his jaw is all too violent. He’s the man I know, but through a fun house mirror. I could almost explain it all away as a prank or a strange dream, if not for the way he displaces the darkness. He seems to repel it as it fights to cling to him, making him seem impossible, yet somehow more real and vivid than anything else I’ve ever encountered.
He doesn’t move, yet the weight of his presence is so consuming I feel caged in on all sides.
His gaze drops from my eyes in the mirror, trailingslowly down the curve of my neck, then lower, tracing the line of my shoulder and the fullness of my body with a deliberate intensity.
A low, buzzing heat starts at the base of my spine, a treacherous reaction to the way he studies me. My logic screams that this is a threat, but my body feels a magnetic, intoxicating pull toward the need radiating from his skin.
He tilts his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“I didn’t expect you to ever have to deal with this,” he whispers.
The sound of his voice doesn’t just hit my ears; it vibrates through my entire frame, a deep, resonant hum that leaves my skin tingling. My devotion to Hill House and puppy dog crush on Rowan hasn’t left much time for me to indulge any of my baser needs beyond my academic curiosity. Judging from the warmth that blooms through my lower stomach, I’m at risk of asking him for more than just answers now.
I want to speak. There are too many things that I need to know, the jumble of thoughts bumping into one another and scrambling like a bunch of ferrets running down a hallway. But before I can form the words, his hand reaches out.
His long, strong fingers stop just an inch from the side of my face, his teasing touch promising what I fear will ignite an addiction I might never kick.
I can’t stand experiencing him through reflection alone. As I move to face him head-on, the lights overhead snap back to a violent, assaulting brightness.
two words, six letters
I expect Rowan to vanish once again, or for me to snap awake from this departure from reality, but the only discernible change is the fact that he looks more like himself, aside from the irritation on his handsome face as he glances at the now open door.
I hadn’t even noticed. Embarrassment makes my cheeks heat as I realize the implications of being caught in a compromising situation. I move to put some space between us, but a firm, possessive hand comes to rest on my hip, not painful, but present. It keeps me rooted in place.
“I’m not quite sure what is inspiring you to make stupid decision after stupid decision, consecutively, in a row, Carston. Turn around and go back to your seat before I need to intervene.”
My gaze snaps to the door, and sure enough, it’s the increasingly clingy sheriff stepping into the washroom, letting the door swing closed behind him.
“I didn’t know you were here, Downs.” Barely contained hatred fills the words, but that’s far less interesting to me than the air of familiarity they carry.
I knew it.
Rowan’s laugh rumbles through me, making a delicious chill run down my spine.
“You always were too arrogant for your own good. You’re not my WestJet app, I don’t need you keeping tabs on my outings.”
Elias scowls before directing his attention to me, his eyes snapping to where the large hand still sits firmly pressed to my hip, holding me against the bigger man.
“I thought I told you not to do anything stupid, Auburn.”
It hardly seems wise to think that being between a man I have categorically distrusted, and one that I don’t trust myself around at the best of times, is the right time to snap.
But I do.
“What makes you think you have the right to talk to me like that?” I surge forward, and Rowan has the good sense to let me, his hand dropping as I approach the blonde.
