Page 138 of The Stars are Dying

“Yes,” Nyte said from within a break in the stone, and when I found him, he dipped into the shadows.

I followed after him. The height down from the narrow plank I walked across turned my stomach. I wondered about the magick that was keeping the outside chill away. Daylight broke again at the end of the hall, and I walked into a room set out like a person had lived here. A large four-poster bed took up a lot of the floor. Black silk sheets and cushions dressed it with dark beauty. There was a bathtub and a fireplace, humble but with a personal touch it felt wrong to intrude upon. Though nothing could steal my interest like what I found positioned by the large open archway window.

“What is that?” I breathed.

It pointed to the sky, a large cylindrical invention on three legs.

“I would show you, but it’s for the stars. It’s called a telescope. I have a great depth of field through the stars without it, but this is unparalleled.”

“So can I.” Wandering around the telescope, I laid a hand on it, wishing it were night. “See through the stars, I mean. Sometimes I wonder if others also stare for long enough to feel pulled between them.” My eyes were drawn to him in the silence. He watched me so thoughtfully I wondered what was on his mind.

“You were born for the sky,” he said, so quietly it was like a slipped thought.

I took a deep breath at the skip of my pulse. “The owner might come back,” I said.

Despite my concern, Nyte sat on the edge of the bed. My gravitational pull to him became so strong as he watched me. Turmoil swirled in his golden irises.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

I couldn’t be certain of what he was thinking or feeling, only that it was something vulnerable I wanted to discover more of. I crossed the space to him. Reaching out, I slipped a palm across his cheek, and my stomach flipped when his went over mine—not to reject my touch, but as though he longed for it to be true as much as I did. His brow drew tighter as his eyes closed, and I’d never seen him look so heartbreakingly lost.

“You can tell me,” I whispered.

“I told you not to give me your soul, Starlight,” he whispered.

“I haven’t.”

His eyes closed and an arm circled around me, drawing me closer to him with a sigh. “Do you know what a soul is?”

I could hardly think with his palm flat on my back, coiling slowly around my waist.

“It is the very core of what we are. The truest form of our emotions. It is always reaching for something lost. The beholder can refuse what it reaches for, but not without a lifelong depression for their denial.”

My fingers slipped over his neck, feeling the soft back of his hair. “How do we know when it’s found?”

I drew a shallow gasp when he looked up at me and pulled me in gently. One knee eased onto the bed beside his thigh. Our lips hovered shy of touching, and I wished I could feel his heart under my palm to know if it raced as much as mine.

“When you turn the key on the past and stop looking to the future. Because there is nothing but now to be found. There is nothing more certain than the need to treasure every second of the now as if there won’t be a tomorrow.”

I nodded, the need for release swelling in my chest.Nothing but now.

“I need you to cast me away,” he said. “You know how to do it. To my dismay, you’ve been getting damn good at it.”

He felt so real against me, his chest firm, only missing warmth, but I didn’t let that waver my focus. I wanted him here. My hand trailed higher until he tensed when my fingers brushed the skin of his neck, and maybe my desperation to have him conjured some heat at the contact.

“I can’t,” I whispered. I met those fiery eyes, seeing the last of his restraint snap right before he broke.

“Fuck,” he said as his lips crashed to mine.

Our mouths moved feverishly, his hand cupping my nape to keep us close. I whimpered at the absence of something, but I tried to forget where he was and that this was only as good as a dream. Nothing had ever touched me with such exhilaration like this, and I wondered how I would even survive the true feeling.

He hooked me behind my knee, pulling me over his lap completely, then reached under my cloak, but it wasn’t enough. I needed his skin against mine even in this blissful torture of a ghost reality.

“I have waited so long for you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my jaw, then my neck, and I moaned softly, clutching his hair in my fingers. “I would have waited an eternity for this.”

He was too convincing. Too addictive. As maddening as his mouth was along my collar, I brought his lips back to mine, and we erupted.

I straddled him where he lay. His tongue slipped into my parted mouth, and he groaned, switching our positions effortlessly. His hips ground against my core, making me moan softly. That seemed to encourage him. He pressed harder, raising my pleasure, and I arched into the blissful torture. Not enough. I whimpered in frustration at what was building too slowly for me to chase it.

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