Page 89 of Heathens
I chuckle. “Oh yeah? What does it mean when two Scorpios get together?”
Felix’s face gets serious. “When two Scorpios make a love match, it is a fierce—atempest—of intense passion. Obsession. They move forward at an accelerated pace. Some might call it foolish. Other times, they’re mated for life; their stingers keeping all others away, their understanding of each other unlike any other.”
I swallow and look at Salem. He must be thinking the same thing, because his hands grip my sides and pull me ever so closer. “Anyway, I’m going to get us some pastries for breakfast,” he says cheerfully. “If my boyfriend wakes up in this lifetime, tell him I’ll grab his favorite danish.”
And just like that, he's gone, leaving Salem and me alone.
“How’d you sleep?” he murmurs, pulling me into his lap and nuzzling his lips into my neck. It’s scratchy—he hasn’t shaved for a few days. Normally he’s clean-shaven, but I kind of like the scruff. It reminds me of the picture he sent me the night we Face Timed—him, with scruff, wearing boots and smoking a cigarette. I groan as his hands make their way down my bare thighs.
“Great, actually,“ I say, giving him a slow smile. “I don't know if it's because we were up all of last night, or if it's because my soul can finally relax,“ I explain, feeling the familiar lurch of guilt.
Two and a half years.
She was all alone for two and a half years.
Salem can read the torn expression on my face. “We won. Don’t forget that.”
I rub my chest and nod. “I know.” I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper. “But he’s still out there.”
Salem nuzzles his face in my hand, his hair tickling my chest. “I know,” he replies, his voice muffled. I hear him inhale. “But I’m fucking with him as much as I can.”
He tells me about moving the paintings. Rearranging his desk, changing the light bulbs.
Genius.
Also, Salem Tempest is a psycho.
“I have a few other tricks up my sleeve, too.”
“What can I help with?” I ask, grabbing a fistful of his hair and looking down at him. His eyes find mine, and it sends a jolt through me.
Partners in crime, but more than that.
Other times, they’re mated for life; their stingers keeping all others away, their understanding of each other unlike any other.
And then we sit down and come up with a plan.
A fool-proof, public ruination of Father Monsignor.
We will destroy the man who destroyed the lives of so many.
We will burn Auguste Martin’s kingdom down—starting with the very place that he values the most—the place where everything started.
Notre Dame de Paris.
Push Someone, and They Will Break
Salem
Present
Evelyn comes downstairs the next day in search of food—still mute, still unable to speak. The only person she talks to is Lily, and they spend hours—days—in my old bedroom. I run to Lily’s apartment every day to feed Jekyll, grab new clothes for her, and to take care of a few things at Notre Dame. Auguste is too preoccupied with his flailing empire that he barely notices nor registers the fact that I’m hardly there aside from mass every evening. When he asks me the next Thursday if I’d been there all day, I look at him funny.
“Yes. We spoke earlier, Father. Remember?”
Auguste’s face goes slightly pale at that, and I tamp down my satisfaction.
“Of course.” He leaves, looking like he’s trying to remember something but can’t quite grasp it.
