Page 103 of Tempt

But she can’t. She cannot even scribe these things on paper for him, because he’ll never read those words, never any words from her. Not ever again.

Because he’s gone.

He’s gone because of her.

And this time, he’s not coming back.

She bends and picks a miniature flower from the lupine stalk, watching the petals skip against the current. Closing her eyes, she inhales a pomegranate and an old book. And she realizes, he might hear her, after all.

If she speaks, he just might hear. “Malice,” she whispers.

But what she doesn’t expect is a response. “You remembered,” a voice says from behind.

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The bloom flutters from her hand and floats to the ground. Like a quill or fletching, it sails and then lands, caught by the high grass that sways across the pasture, the brush of green blades and lupines creating a wave.

Wonder’s unshod toes splay in the fresh soil, cushioned into the earth. Yet the world tilts like a planet knocked off its axis, floral hues splashing color and dimension everywhere. She ponders if her feet might grow roots and burrow here, and if that’s possible, and how long it might take.

Perhaps she’s becoming a wildflower or a pomegranate tree. Or perhaps she’s going mad like he once had, because she cannot have heard that voice. Not so clearly, nor so near.

How strong is the imagination? How fierce?

Do illusions ever become real?

A shadow touches hers on the hill, the harsh edges of him blending with the curves of her, their silhouettes merging beneath the gauzy outlines of drifting clouds. The masculine form behind her kneels to retrieve the bit of fallen lupine. Rising, he skims the petals along the rim of her lobe, causing a chain reaction down her spine.

“You’d better concentrate,” he coos, tucking the flower behind her ear. “Or you’ll lose something delicate.”

His breath skates across her shoulders, his raspy tenor scooping out her heart. Wonder’s eyes close, and her mouth opens to taste the sound. “This isn’t real.”

“Hmm. I can list a half dozen legends that weren’t supposed be real, not to mention a few love stories and one savvy reincarnation. Why don’t you meditate on that and get back to me?”

“Malice?”

“Wonder?”

“Are you a ghost?”

“Not anymore,” he says, “as sexy and perverted as that would be. But you can call me a god. Or better yet, call me Hades. I like being called Hades.”

It sounds as though he’s inches from her. But she won’t turn, she can’t turn, she’ll never turn. If she does, what if this moment vanishes?

What if it doesn’t?

And what had he said a second ago? Before she dropped the lupine?

Oxygen stutters from between her lips. “You said that I remembered. What did you mean? What did I remember?”

“To come back,” he replies.

She had expected him to say that she’d remembered his name…the name of his present life, not his past one.

But, no. That’s not it.

In the library, Wonder had kissed his lifeless mouth and swore to return from the meeting with her classmates. She had vowed to watch him fade, insisting that she would be right back.

But his declaration is wrong, because she hadn’t fulfilled that promise, because she ran out of time. Hadn’t she?

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