Page 69 of Wolfsbane Hall
Celestine’s heart banged hard in her chest, overworking.Boom. Boom. Boom.It was both fast and lethargic at the same time.
“Do youonly touch me when I’m passed out?” Her head drooped against his chest, and she tried to hold it up. “That’s very inappropriate, you know?”
“Yes.”
A fog of sleep rolled over her mind, and she yawned. “Disappointing.”
“Do you want me to touch you other times?” His voice was a low rumble.
I want you to touch me all the time, Celestine thought, or at least she hoped it was a thought. Begged it to be only a thought.
“You’re hurt and not thinking clearly.” It was more of a grunt than words.
If only I didn’t think it all the time.Sleep’s talons sank into her skull, and she completely passed out.
Celestine clutched her throat as she jerked awake, rising up on an obscenely comfortable couch. A piano played the song “Poor Wandering One” from the operettaPirates of Penzance.
Dean’s strong fingers moved over the keys with beautiful efficiency, hitting every note like he was worshiping them. Celestine wanted those fingers to worship her, too. And that would not do. She couldn’t like that.
“You don’t have to just watch. You could sing along. After all, you are an angel of music.”
She could. She was a soprano and often sang in the Specter’s shows. But Celestine didn’t want to. Not to mention, her throat was formed from hot coals.
“And are you my Phantom?”she croaked.
A grin crawled up his face. “Maybe don’t try to sing right now.”
“Why are you playing the piano?”
Dean didn’t even falter as he spoke. Every note was perfect. “Don’t you love the piano, or is the Specter a liar?”
“He told you.” It was more of a painful breath than words.
“Yes.”
As always, Dean was frustratingly vague. One-word answers were starting to drive her crazy.
“Right, and why the song?” she asked.
Dean shrugged. “It felt fitting.”
The movement of his shrug didn’t hurt his playing; his fingers were still perfectly stroking the keys. Her core pulsed.For the love of God, Celine, stop using the word “stroking” to describe it.
Celestine gulped and tried to distract herself and her body by continuing the conversation. “Am I the poor Wandering One, or are you?”
Dean flashed a dimple. “It is a good question.” He paused his words as he played the last notes. “I think it may be both of us. I am cursed to wander the world forever, never getting what I want, and you wander these halls with no true goals, following the mad whims of a ghost.”
Anger twisted inside her, but the problem was that Dean wasn’t wrong. At one time, Celestine would have done anything for the Specter. That’s what the female members of the cast did. That’s why they were given a spot at Wolfsbane. The Specter wanted loyalty above all else, and Celestine was forged from one thing: loyalty. Always trying to prove her love, doing anything to feel worthy.
Everything Dean said was correct. But she hated it.
“And what is it that you want?” Her lips fell into a hard line, and she curled her fingers into the leather ofhis couch.
Dean closed the piano’s lid and walked over to the couch. “How are you? Not just your neck, butyou?” He slid in next to her.
Celestine’s brow furrowed; she was caught off guard by the question. “You’re the only person to ask me that. Ever.” Besides Frances. But Frances mothered everyone. That was her thing. That was why the Specter wanted her.
“Well, my brothers are. . .” Dean ran a hand through his raven locks. “Sometimes single-minded.”
