Page 108 of Find My Way Down to You

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” I say, voice rough.

His smile is playful. “Maybe we both ask too many questions.”

One of my hands finds the back of his head. Soft curls loop around my fingers. I lean forward and he meets me halfway.

Our mouths melt together. That awkward hesitation from before is gone. Cary’s tongue explores my mouth, fearless. I tip into the kiss. Grin at the shocked gasp rattling in his throat when I bite gently on his lower lip.

Too quickly, he breaks away.

Wild dark eyes roam my face. Dread sits between my shoulder blades. Was that too much? Is he regretting it?

His thumb sweeps over the corner of my mouth. Breathless, he says, “I need to go. The souls…” His words fall away. But the want pulses like a gilded heartbeat in his eyes.

That same want spreads through me, an eagle stretching out its wings. High on adrenaline, I blurt, “Take me with you.”

His features twist. “August, come on. You know I cannot—”

“Take me with you,” I repeat, stubbornly insistent.

The gold brightens around his irises. A flash, then gone. He grabs my other hand, nodding.

I almost forget to lock the greenhouse on the way out.

Cary’s room isn’t what I expected. In a good way.

Dark wood floors shift into cream walls. Light twinkles from a cluster of small globes that drip from the ceiling like falling stars. Thick bouquets of asphodels spring from clay vases decorated in vibrant blue art.

And there are books all over.

Stacked on rustic furniture. Piled in a high-backed chair. Open on the gray area rug.

Gauzy curtains dance in front of an open window. I breathe in briny sea spray. Underneath, an earthy sugariness from a bowl of fresh pomegranate on the small table nearby.

I try not to stare at his wide—and appealing—platform bed. It’s perfectly made. Dressed in onyx. Not a single dent in any of the pillows. As if he never really sleeps here.

“Because he’s a vampire,” I whisper, amused.

A coffin is probably tucked away somewhere.

“Sorry for the mess.”

I spin around. Cary smiles from the doorway. A blush roses his cheeks. Grains of sand stick to his clothes. The undone buttons of his Henley show off smooth skin and muscle.

Shrugging, I say, “Mine is worse.”

“Are you inviting me to your bedroom again?”

Now it’s my turn to flush. “You like to read?”

“I do. When I can.”

His fingers trail over spine after spine. From here, I cansee some of the titles:Giovanni’s Room,The Picture of Dorian Gray,Beloved, I’ll Give You the Sun,Pride and Prejudice. They’re from my world. I wonder how he got them here. Did he steal them? Can Deathless get library cards?

There are other books, thick tomes, with titles in a language I can’t read. The same one from the garden’s maze.

I can imagine him sitting on the shore. His curious face tucked between the pages. Forgetting the world exists. At least a dozen books lie cracked open around the room. I wonder which is his favorite.