Page 108 of Touch

“Am I crushing you?” she weeps.

“You’ve always crushed me, but I don’t give a fuck. Some might say I get off on it.”

“You need water.” Love shimmies off his body, hurries to grab the pitcher, refills his cup, and thrusts it toward him. Andrew resists, urging her to drink first, then quenches his own thirst before collapsing again, taking her with him.

They wrap themselves together, their heartbeats thumping against one another. Love extends one leg over his waist. Andrew carves his fingers through her hair, his mouth tucking into her hair, inhaling her scent. He holds Love fast, as if to keep her from vanishing.

Outside, ribbons of midday sunlight sneak through the woods. The archers had been right, for there are no signs that a search party came looking for Andrew after she fell asleep. The snow has likely confined the townspeople to their homes, and the forest is too submerged for anyone to make it through. Not that humans would see the cottage.

Still, the snow is melting. With any luck, it will be clear by tomorrow night, then they can leave. And afterward, the cottage will disappear like mist.

Andrew drags his thumbs over Love’s cheeks to wipe them dry, his embrace solid and warm. The temperature of hisbody feels marvelous. She lets it ooze down her flesh as her lips burrow into his neck.

“You’re not hurt,” Andrew mumbles. “I checked multiple times.”

“After you carried me from the battle,” she concludes. “I remember your arms.”

“I thought I knew fury. But when I saw them aiming those arrows at you, I was ready to rip every one of those fuckers to pieces.”

“Yet we’re alive. And snowed in.”

“With only one bed. The tropes keep coming.”

“Such a smart ass,” Love mutters with a smile.

Her eyelids droop. The last thing she hears is his tired chuckle before she floats into darkness. And by the time she stirs beside Andrew, flames in the hearth have ebbed to a gentle hiss, and eventide has cloaked the world in stars.

Her beloved rests behind Love, his arm banded around her middle like a shield. Even in slumber, he seeks to protect her. Twisting in his arms, she soaks in his slumbering features and low, rumbling groan, then spends endless time sketching his countenance, touching him as much as she wishes.

Before this new life commences though, Love must do something imperative. Careful not to awaken him, she slips out of bed. Andrew mutters in his sleep, his arm stretching out for her, the motion stoking her heart like timbers.

Warmth. Such a profound sensation.

Wrapping a blanket around her, Love pads outside. Beyond the cottage door, she draws in an icy breath, the contrast in temperature startling. Air slices down her lungs, dousing the heat that had been there moments ago, the contrast pebbling her flesh. The woods appear different now, more imposing and dangerous, yet also more real. And beautiful. Finally, she knows what nature truly feels like.

Curious, Love slips into her boots and tracks through the woods. A white owl hoots, spreads its alabaster wings, and launches into the sky. The sight pulls on her chest, the scars down her shoulder blades stinging. Yet she swallows, lifts her chin, and keeps walking into the unknown.

At the frozen pond, a crochet of film laces the surface. Here, Love felt his touch and lips for the first time. Here, she felt many new things. Taking gingerly steps, Love maneuvers onto the pond, slipping once but righting herself. She proceeds with slow caution, then unspools her blanket and drops it to the ice.

How amusing. Most human stories about deities are filled with golden light, blazing suns, and lush paradises such as Mount Olympus. Yet in her reality, the Dark Gods dwell among the constellations, regardless of whether it’s morning or night. She would have loved to show Andrew that place.

The arctic landscape takes a bite from Love’s skin. At the same time, it spangles her body in celestial light.

Breath puffing from her lips, Love stands naked beneath The Stars, banking her head to the sky. Tears stream down the sides of her face. Happy, grateful, frightened, grief-stricken, awed, and hopeful droplets carve down her frosted cheeks. Mortals truly are the more resilient beings, for they endure all these emotions at once.

Although she misses her wings, Love does not regret losing them. And while she wasn’t given the choice to forsake the plumes, she does have the choice to respond. Her mouth lifts into a weeping grin, her lips shaking as she addresses The Stars. “Goodbye.”

The celestials glint like asterisks. One stubborn star in particular, which usually refuses to shine.

A tall shadow materializes across the ice, his form blending with hers. A pair of hot lips brush her nape, then sear a path along the ledge of her neck and down to the crusted linesslicing through her shoulder blades. Her beloved mate treats the scars preciously, draping kisses along the markings. He wants to ask about the severed wings but doesn’t yet, for this man knows what Love needs, knows to wait until she’s ready. Instead, her throat swells as he worships the pulped skin with his lips, paying homage to what she’s lost, soothing the scars with his poignant touch.

Raising his head, Andrew crosses his arms over Love’s midriff, encasing her in bare muscles and more heat. “Need someone to thaw you?”

The smoldering press of his unclad body ignites a new temperature, turning her blood to lava. Love sighs with pleasure and lolls her scalp against his chest. “No,” she gusts out. “I want to feel it all.”

Andrew groans, his mouth cutting down to hers. Swerving her head up toward him, Love meets his lips and insists, “I want it all.”

His mouth snatches hers, tugging her into a deep, molten kiss. Licking the seam of her lips, Andrew pries Love open, pumping his tongue inside her. A moan curls from the back of her throat, which he consumes like oxygen.

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