Page 19 of Raise Up, Heart
“Murderous?” Cole is a parrot. He’s a parrot, and this is a dream. He should stop this explanation and kiss Damon now. He should make love to him, like he’s done so many times in his sleep, so full of longing and want. He could wake up at any second. He reaches into his coat pocket again to clench the heart.
“The long and the short of it is,” Damon says, “I took Alex’s body from him. I stole it. I woke up here on the floor without any recollection of how it happened. I tore his body apart and put myself in his place.”
“So much for the Hippocratic Oath,” Cole says, though he doesn’t know where the joke comes from. He can’t breathe, and he feels lightheaded again.
Damon says, “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing they can’t hold me to it anymore. Considering I’m dead.”
“Are you dead?” Cole asks.
It’s horrific. He remembers Alex as he last saw him, too thin, and strange. The way his skin didn’t seem like his own anymore, and the hunted, pained expression on his face.
“Beats the hell out of me,” Damon says, confusion and stress radiating from his wiry body. “Why don’t you make that call?” He sighs. “I’ve come at it with science, I’ve come at it with logic, and it defies both every time.”
“Yes.”
The moment hangs, heavy and weighted with all that’s been lost, destroyed, and killed. And still, beneath the horror, Cole aches with all they’ve lost. All they never got to have.
Cole stares at Damon. The solitude of the cabin, the woods around them, stretches out for at least a mile, and he whispers, “I don’t know if this is a dream or not, but I don’t want to wake up anymore.”
Damon’s eyes are soft and gentle, full of affection, and Cole never had the opportunity to get used to that before it was taken away, and he leans forward, trying to get closer. “Why aren’t you touching me?”
“Do you want me to touch you?” Damon asks. Damon’s expression changes, and Cole feels it in his gut—the predatory gaze, the intent. He feels the tug of it in his chest, his balls, and he’s still terrified, but he’s getting hard, too.
“I need you to,” Cole says.
He needs Damon’s hands on him, and his warm body next to him. He wants to put his hands in Damon’s hair, run his fingers into the kind of shaggy mess of it, and kiss him again. He has to feel him because even with the sight of him rightthere, Cole needs to understand if this is real.
Damon gets down on his knees, creeping toward Cole, too slowly. Cole grabs his collar, the cotton of the button-up shirt crumples in his hands, and he pulls Damon closer, waiting for the moment when he wakes up and he sobs his heart out over the loss. But it doesn’t come. Damon’s close, closer, and he feels warm and solid under Cole’s hands. He’s staring at Cole’s lips, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t kiss him, and Cole’s waiting for him to dosomething, complete this moment for him, but Damon just tilts his head a little and runs his eyes down Cole’s neck and back over his face.
Cole keeps his eyes open as he presses his lips to Damon’s mouth, feels the wet, instant response, and he keeps them open as the kiss deepens. He clings so hard to Damon’s shoulders that he might be bruising him, but he doesn’t care. Damon’s tongue is slippery and soft against his own, and Cole crushes Damon to him, kissing him, relieved by his solidity. Damon’s eyes fall closed, and he kisses just the way he did before—hungry, eager.
Cole bites down on Damon’s lip hard; Damon jerks, and Cole tastes the copper of his blood. Cole pulls back, and Damon’s eyes are shocked, underscored by understanding.
“Yeah, I bleed.”
Cole blinks as Damon leans back to press the back of his hand to his bleeding lip. “I’m sorry.”
Damon shrugs and starts to stand up. Cole pulls him back down and takes Damon’s face in both hands, stares at his eyes, the green just as he remembers, and he gently licks the blood on Damon’s lip, tasting it, watching Damon’s eyes soften again.
Damon murmurs, “Didn’t know you were so kinky.”
Cole bursts into tears at that, as startled by his response as Damon, and he drags Damon closer, burying his face in his neck, sobbing again. He’s so scared that he’s lost his mind. And he’s not sure which is more frightening—the idea that he might be crazy or the idea that this is real. Because Damon has told him…Damon has said that he…that he took Alex’s body, took it over, and transformed it, and now he’s here and…now what?
“Alex is gone?” Cole asks between crazy, gulping breaths. “You killed him?”
“Killed,” Damon says slowly. “Let’s see, I took his body, deprived him of his life. Yeah. That word seems apt.”
“No,” Cole says. “No, you couldn’t. He was your cousin. Your best friend. You would have wanted him to live. You wouldn’t—”
“You’re right,” Damon says.
Cole can hear the heart in question beating beneath Damon’s shirt. He can put his hand right over Damon’s chest and feel it beat.
“I wouldn’t. And yet I did.” He snorts a laugh. “Manslaughter or body theft? There’s no explanation that’s pretty or neat. It’s gory. Hell, it’s wrong.I’mwrong.”
“No!” Cole says, and he grabs Damon’s face. He doesn’t understand, and he’s not sure he can accept it all, but Damon isn’t wrong. He’s not wrong. Cole hasn’t felt anything sorightas Damon in his arms, not in two years. Not since he saw Damon’s body damaged beyond repair in that bed. “No. Don’t say that.”
“What do you want me to say? You wanted an explanation. This is the best I can give you.”
