Page 85 of Runes To Rain
His eyes widen slightly as he sees the sword. He takes a step back and presses his hands into his pockets, glancing somewhere along the doorframe. His shoulders hunch as though he’s preparing for a blow.
“Are you going to come in or just stand out there?” I ask, somehow managing the words past the utter agony of emotion that is tightening my chest.
He looks at me finally, and I think I see hope in his eyes. He doesn’t respond, but he does take a step forward, and I move to the side, allowing him through the door before I close it behind him.
He glances around the space, and his eyes widen as he takes in the cozy apartment. “It’s not mine,” I say.
“You’re staying here, though?” he asks.
“It belongs to a friend.”
“Until recently, I thought you were staying at the demon stronghold.”
“You thought about where I was staying?” I ask quietly.
I watch his shoulders tense, but he nods. “I’ve been trying to find you so I could apologize.”
“For what?”
“For everything. Sending you to treatment when you didn’t need it, not getting you out of prison quicker, not having the words to tell you what I was thinking when I saw your scars.” He is speaking quickly as though if he doesn’t say the words now, he won’t be able to.
“Well?” I ask.
“When I saw them, I felt the weight of how awfully I’d treated you. If I’d tried harder to listen to you, to understand sooner, nothing would have stopped me from saving you.” He’s avoiding my eyes and runs one hand shakily through his hair.
It feels as though everything that makes me who I am has been ambushed by too much emotion. Yet somehow it’s not unwelcome. However, all I can focus on at this moment are the muscles under his fitted, button-up shirt. The line of his forearm to his hand is artistic, or maybe that’s just because I have sketched it so many times. He has beautiful hands. They are somehow graceful when compared to the rest of him. Scars cover his knuckles, and I note some still-healing bruises.
I look at his face, seeing again the dark circles under his eyes and the hint of a beard along his jaw. I can’t help myself, and I look at his lips, remembering our kiss. Suddenly, I wish I had put on a different shirt. The fabric of this one is thin, and I can feel my nipples pressing through the fabric.
“Chaosta?” he asks, a pleading note in his voice. “What are you thinking?”
I swallow, unable to pull my focus from his lips. “That’s fine,” I say, but my voice sounds strained, and I don’t know what I’m responding to. Everything feels foggy.
He steps forward, concern clear on his face as he closes the distance between us. I bite my lip, my attention again going to his jaw again and then trailing down to the top button of his collar.
He stops moving.
Glancing up, I see him searching my face. “Chaosta?” he asks, his voice quiet.
A shudder runs through me. “Mmhmm?” I mutter to him.
“Give me the sword,” he says. He holds a hand out to me. His expression and tone are stern.
Without thinking, I hand him the sword with a shaking hand, still gnawing on my lip.
“Good,” he says as he takes the sword, and I hear him set it somewhere. Then he closes the space between us and takes my chin, tipping it up so I meet his eyes. He gently frees my lip from between my teeth as he says, “I see you here trembling, and I want to warn you to run, but I am not a strong enough man to deal with the loss.”
I wobble, and my chest is so tight that I feel as though I can’t take another breath.
“Despite my feelings about this, you need to tell me what you want. If you want me to leave, I will walk out that door and never haunt you again.”
As his eyes search mine, I feel myself looking at him as though I’ve already lost him.
“I want you to stay, please,” I somehow manage to say.
I feel his breath brush against the skin of my cheek, and then his lips are pressed to mine, and he kisses me until I’m breathless. His tongue tangles with mine, claiming some part of me as his fingers trace a blazing trail down my spine.
Finally ending the kiss, he presses his forehead to mine for a moment. Then he takes a step away, and I hear myself whimper quietly.
