Page 72 of Ladybirds

She swallows thickly, a battle of nerves and wishes clashing in her chest. “I’m not,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t.” She wants to tell him she’s not that cruel, but the words are stuck in her throat.

His breath is a laugh, soft and pained with truth. “You do,” he murmurs, thumb tracing her bottom lip. “You don’t mean to, but you do.”

Sara could argue—list all the reasons why he’s wrong, highlight why she’s right—but she’s tired of the back and forth. Tired of the fragile line they’ve been dancing around. Tired of wanting more, but being too afraid to grasp it.

She leans up, her good ankle straining despite her full weight leaning against him, and lets her lips linger at the corner of his mouth—basking in his sharp intake of breath. “I’m not teasing,” she murmurs against his lips. Beneath her hands, he trembles around heaving breaths. His fingers slide into the hair at the base of her skull, his full bottom lip sliding against her mouth with a diligence that makes her pulse thrum.

Then he’s kissing her—deliciously, tortuously, slow—and oh god, no one has ever kissed her like this. Like every taste is treasured, every hitch in her breath coveted. He moans, low and deep, and it’s enough to make her toes curl and her heart ache.

Her hands push past the lapels of his coat, sliding up his chest in search of skin—

Seth hisses, recoiling from her touch so abruptly she nearly stumbles. For a moment, she thinks maybe she went too far, but there’s something in his expression—his parted, panting mouth and the furrow of his brow.

“Seth?”

He shakes his head, his hands bracing her shoulders as he steps away from her—refusing to release her until he seems satisfied that she’s balanced. His eyes drop to his chest, pushing his coat aside to reveal a stain over his heart—red and blooming across the white cotton peeking beneath his vest. “Oh.”

There’s static in her ears. Shaking, her fingers touch the stain and come back wet. “You’re bleeding.” She stares, dumbly, at the red coating her fingers before the implication lands like a bomb. She’s thinking of doves—of blood and feathers; brittle bones and broken hearts.

Her hands can’t move fast enough; they’re pushing the coat off his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his vest and pulling at his shirt. “You’re bleeding!”

“Yes,” he snaps, shrugging out of his coat and vest. “I can see that.”

He swats her hand away, pulling his collar down and inspecting the damage himself. On the left side of his chest is a spattering of small, weeping punctures. Seth stares, mouth working silently before a breathy, sardonic laugh leaves his lips. “Well, that’s just not bloody fair.”

He reaches back, pulling his shirt up over his head with a pained growl, and deposits the blood stained fabric on the floor. Sara is horrified to find the rest of his lean chest is a battery of angry, molted bruises. He glowers, words hissing between his teeth. “Not fair at all.”

She raises a trembling hand, fingers brushing against a purple bruise blooming at his collar. Her eyes flit between the rapidly appearing injuries in growing horror. “What is this? Why—”

“They’re old,” he says distractedly, prodding against his bloodied flesh and hissing. “Pillock had to use the blasted shotgun.”

Sara freezes. “This is from a gunshot?!”

“Rather relieved he never decided to give the rifle a try,” he mutters, flinching as he presses against a tender spot.

Sara watches a bruise bloom across his jawline, molted purple and in the shape of her knuckles, and pales—bile rising in her throat. “These...these are injuries people gave you!?”

He looks up at her, the edge in his gaze softening. There’s a calmness, an apathy, in him that has no right to be there—not when she can feel her blood boiling and freezing over all at once. “Nothing to fret over.”

“That’s not what I asked!” she snaps. Her nerves are rope, fraying with every new bruise and blemish marring his pale skin. “Who did this to you?!”

Seth’s mouth holds the barest hint of a smile, his hands reaching between them to caress her cheeks. He ducks his head until their noses touch and all she can see are the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. “It will heal, Sara.”

The urge to stomp her foot, the same way she did as a child, is nearly overwhelming. “That doesn’t answer my question!” A beat of silence passes between them, and a whole new realization dawns. “You... you didn’t answer my question.”

His thumbs trace the freckles over her cheeks, lips pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “No.”

Under his stare, she wavers. The air feels thin. “I—I don’t understand.”

Seth chuckles, brushing a stray piece of hair away from her eyes; fingertips gliding across her skin like a whisper. “Don’t you?” His head tilts, regarding her with a smile so warm—so adoring—it’s a small miracle she doesn’t melt. “I’m Laura, the foolish mortal that fell to temptation and ate the cursed fruit.” He rests his forehead against her own, his lips so achingly close she can feel every breathy word. “And you, my dear, beautiful Sara, are my Lizzie.”

His fingers trail down, thumb brushing her bottom lip—eyes hooded. “‘Eat me. Drink me. Love me.’ Wasn’t that the line?” A laugh, small enough to fit in the space of a breath, leaves him—hot and wanting on her skin. “Always a kiss that breaks the spell.”

Sara swallows, willing herself to ignore the heat stirring in her lower stomach. Damn him. Damn him for making this hard. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

He hums, still transfixed by her mouth—her skin. His fingers sweep across her jaw with a diligence that scares her. The bruise on his face stares back, a taunting reminder. She reaches for his wrists, stopping their progress. “Seth...”

A grimace, as if her words cause him more pain than the lead in his chest. “I’ve waited so, so long.” With her hands still grasping his, his palms burn—warm and real—against her cheeks. The eyes she had once thought to be so cruel, beg her for mercy. “The wound—it’s nothing. Truly. I just...” he trails off, words hitching in his throat. Sara can hear him swallow, feel the slight tremble of his hands across her flushed skin. “Let me feel you. Just a little longer. I—”

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