Page 24 of Soul of Thorns
“Rev,” I bark.
He waves his hands casually, willing to give it up. “All I’m saying is that—” he pauses and purses his lips like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You and I are mates for a reason. Fate doesn’t make that big of a mistake.”
My eyebrows pull down in confusion. “What?”
“Maybe we both belong here,” he says finally.
Caelynn
Rev sits beside me, quiet and still for—I don’t even know how long. Long enough for the gentle rain to stop.
Rev and I are so complicated it’s hard to keep these lines straight. We are allies. And friends. We should be lovers, but that will never happen. So, we pretend. Pretend that this is all there is.
I pretend that I’m not watching his fingers curl over his thigh, measuring the space between us. That I don’t think about his lips on mine about every ten seconds. That I don’t wish there was some way that I could be good enough for him.
The awkward silence stretches between us. He knows I’m hiding from those deep conversations that lay me bare. Things I don’t ever want him to know. Burdens that shouldn’t be his.
I force myself to my feet suddenly, crawling from the tiny cave in an instant. I just need to move, to get out of this tiny, cramped place, but my knees buckle, and I lose my balance. Rev must have followed me out because his hands are at my waist, steadying me.
My cheeks burn in embarrassment. Why? Why do I have to be so weak now? Like poison in the air is seeping into my lungs. The magic inside my veins crawls like little needles piercing everything.
“Careful,” he whispers, his tone husky, and just like that, my mind is spinning through what I want him to do. What I wish we were, could be.
My back presses against the nearest stone, and he follows, ensuring I’m okay.
I don’t know if I am.
His silver eyes are stark against the dim and sour red of the Schorchedlands’ sky. His hands are on either side of my head.
“Caelynn,” he whispers. His voice sends every rational thought fleeing from my mind. His eyes flicker from dark to silver and back, like he’s unsure what to feel. I swallow, unable to take my eyes off of him.
My hands move—of their own fruition, I swear, because I never consciously decided to touch him this way. My fingers slide up his stomach, feeling the ripples and curves of his muscles, up over her chest to his shoulders.
There, that’s a safe place to stay.
He steps closer so that his hips rest against mine.
