Page 92 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

Hazel breathed in his scent, warm human combined with a hint of ozone, letting it settle in her senses as she took in the sight of the woods. The sky darkened as they stood there, and a star came out just above the treetops. “Everything I’d wish for seems like too much to ask,” she said.

“Not if you’re doing most of the work, I’d say. Though I’m hardly in charge of these affairs.”

She half turned to face him, studying how his eyes reflected the starlight. “I will if you will.”

“Of course.”

“Star light, star bright…” they began. The old rhyme should have sounded silly, but Hazel couldn’t dredge up any embarrassment. It seemed such a small emotion for the moment.

I wish—She hesitated, stupidly afraid to sound presumptuous to her own head, or the universe, or whatever else might be listening.What the hell, she thought,go big or go home. I wish for us to both get outalive tomorrow. Or as alive as Maxwell is. I wish that I can do what I have to do and save us all.

* * *

The food was unfamiliar, but good, and Maxwell suspected that neither he nor Hazel did it any sort of justice. He tried nonetheless; if it was hard to appreciate a last meal, it was all the more important to do it. Memories would have to sustain him where he was likely to go the next day.

Hazel had given him a trove of them, of course. She sat across from him in white flowered cotton that left most of her limbs bare and very few illusions about her figure, wielding chopsticks with impressive proficiency, and almost shone against the backdrop of her gutted living room. Maxwell watched her and tried to burn every detail into his mind. It took surprisingly little effort.

“Your dryad isalmostused to my presence, I think,” he said. “Begrudgingly so.”

He won a smile. “I’m glad it hasn’t decided you have tasty blood. Or that it’s willing to restrain itself if it has.”

“Should I feel insulted, I wonder, that I’m not appetizing?”

“Not appetizing to that particular dryad. Maybe they have different tastes.” She finished her egg roll and wiped her hands neatly on a napkin. “Not that I’m dying to sample your blood, I should note. No offense.”

“None taken. I’ve never suspected that you were a vampire.”

“My secret’s safe, then.” The joke sounded halfway between genuine and forced.

Maxwell set his own pair down on his empty plate. “Hazel—”

“Sorry. I just—” She laughed helplessly, shaking her head. “It’s like waiting at a bus station with somebody, you know? You say your goodbyes, you make sure you’ve covered everything important, and then you still have fifteen minutes until the damn bus arrives, and…whatdo you do? Talking about the Steelers would be ridiculous.”

“Especially since I have no idea who they are,” he said, and stood up. Two steps brought him around the table.

She craned her head back to see him as he put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re taking this a lot better than I am.”

“I’m not entirely human any longer, dear heart.” Maxwell traced circles on her skin with his thumbs. “I cut off parts of myself long ago—though not as thoroughly as I’d thought until we met.”

Emotions tangled on Hazel’s face as she sat speechless. “I’m sorry you had to,” she finally said, “and glad if it’s some help now. And very flattered.” Reaching back, she covered one of his hands with hers.

“Thank you,” said Maxwell, meaning it to cover all three counts and more.

“I should check the wards one more time before bed. Will you come with me?” Her hand lay warm and smooth on top of his. With her head tilted back, Maxwell could clearly see the hollows of her neck and the fine bones of her shoulders; he also saw the fading bruises and scrapes on her arms.

“Anywhere.”

* * *

They finished up on the porch again. Darkness had fallen while they ate and deepened as Hazel made sure her protections held. Now the night was full of stars, scattered like rhinestones across the sky in the sort of view only the country allowed. Hazel found a certain comfort in them: The world was larger and went back longer than she knew. Not all would be lost, no matter what.

She hoped she was right.

“At least it’s a beautiful night,” she said, as the warm wind ruffled her hair. “I wouldn’t presume to ask for that, but rain would have seemed like salt in the wounds.”

Maxwell laughed softly. His mortal form had faded over thecourse of their dinner, and now starlight gleamed on his skin. “I’ve always liked a summer thunderstorm. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“No. You don’t do that much,” said Hazel, reaching out to stroke his cheek.