Page 58 of Dravin

He’s real. The sunlight does amazing things to his hair, highlighting the softer browns beneath the black dye that’s faded slightly, but it also throws golden light all over the shadows under his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks. Whether he wants to talk about us or not, he’s coming in. He’s coming into this damn house right this minute for something to drink and a meal. I have no doubt he’s spent an inordinate amount of time watching this place, blanketing me in his protective presence even when I can’t see him. He hasn’t spent nearly enough time sleeping or taking care of himself.

I raise my hand, about to call out when he turns again.

Hell no.There’s no way I’m going to let him leave.

I set the watering can on the railing and fly off the porch, racing down the sidewalk barefoot.

He turns his head and sees me coming. For a second, I think that he’ll dart away, but instead of turning away from me, he twists around and runs to me too.

We clash together in one fluid movement. His hands wrap around my waist as I leap like we’ve practiced this. My legs lock around him, my arms secure themselves around his neck. He tilts his face up, squinting against the sun.Thisis thedifference. From this angle, the bright light brings out the gold in his left eye only. His lips tilt up, the white scar at the corner of his mouth stark. All his scars are painted by the sun, but she’s a kind artist. He’s not beautifuldespitethe damage. Every bit of him is wondrous. He doesn’t need the dark to whisper soft blue over his face, wreathing him in shadows. He doesn’t need to hide. He’s beautifulalways.

I can’t help dipping my head and drinking in the scent of him. His breathing isn’t heavy. Nothing gives him away except the hammering pulse, twinning with mine, leaping in his neck. I press my lips to it, inhaling that earthy scent that clings to his smooth skin. He’s so freshly shaved that I almost wonder if he did it right before coming here.

He carries me down the sidewalk, walking like he can’t get us into the house fast enough. It’s not just for privacy. It’s because he can’t make himself go slow. We clear the door, and he slams it behind us, setting the locks in place. He just stops there, like he’s not sure what to do. The place is a mess, with canvases all over every surface. It’s not like he can set me down anywhere other than the floor, and even that has limited room.

“Dravin?”

His face actually creases. Not crumples, but his lips pull back as a sound of agony escapes.

“My head is a mess, Kael.”

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling the strands away from his forehead, revealing all the twisted scars layered heavily there, drifting down across his temple and cheek, breaking away like rain at the end of a storm.

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Can you know what you want and still be so torn all at once?”

“I think that’s the very definition of a good man. If you’re not at war with yourself, then you’re not doing it right.”

He blinks, his scarred eyelid moving just a fraction slower. I’m so close. I can see all the tiny details I didn’t notice before. “My head is a wreck, but I know what’s in… other parts of me.”

I press my hand over his heart. No one thinks with this and it’s corny, but I don’t fucking care. “Here?”

He nods. “It’s just as burned and scarred and drowned as the rest of me has been. There are thick layers over it, callouses, not from past loves that have hurt, but from fuckinglife. I’m afraid that if I let you break it open, it’s all going to come out. I’ll be too intense for you. I’ll burn you up and tear you apart.”

“No.” I kiss along his jawline.

“I shouldn’t be here at all, but I am. I can’t do this halfway.”

It’s a warning, but my face doesn’t care. My body doesn’t care. My whole heart doesn’t care. It should. I’ve had enough grief and pain, rage and regret to last a lifetime.

Dravin’s trying to cloak me in his protection by keeping me safe from the very thing I want.

Him.

I can’t let him.

I can’t let myself do it either.

My smile is way too big and goofy. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I don’t care one bit. I’ve saved them all up since the last time I saw him. They’ve been living inside of me, wanting to break free, and now they’ve all been channeled into this one that’s so wide, it’s literally hurting my cheeks.

“I really hate doing things halfway as well.”

I claim his mouth, running my tongue over his lips, feeling the scar tissue at the corner, coaxing him to open for me. He does on a growl which is dangerously and deliciously close to being unhinged. I angle my face so that I can kiss him deeper. He kisses me back like he’s been starved, parched, and losing his mind because he can’t sleep and can’t function.

“Wait!” I wrench my mouth from his. “How’s your back?”

“Torturously goddamn itchy,” he curses. “But getting there in the healing.”

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