Page 67 of Nyx
“Do what?” I ask as he releases me, and I swipe a stray drip of strawberry juice from the corner of his lips.
“Laugh.”
My instinct is to argue with him, because I don’t laugh. Never have, and never had a reason to. But I hesitate as I replay the last few days in my mind, remembering the random, overwhelming rushes of happiness that are becoming more frequent. They fill me so full, they need somewhere to go. Reyes must see the confusion on my face, and he hums a quiet, thoughtful sound.
“I shouldn’t have said anything, should I? Did I make it weird?”
“No, you didn’t. I… laughed?”
“Mm-hmm. Six whole times.”
“You counted?” I ask, though I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. He has always paid attention to the little things.
He steps closer, placing himself between my legs and wrapping his arms around my back. “Six, if I’m not counting the tiny ones that I can’treallybe sure are laughs. You’ve also given me one hundred and thirty-eight smiles, and twenty-seven kisses.” Another rush of emotion hits me, and I close the distance between us. “Twenty-eight,” he murmurs, the sound muffled by my lips.
My position on the counter makes me taller than him, and he nuzzles his face into my neck. His breath blows over the place where that heavy collar used to sit, but the memory doesn’t trap me—paralyzeme—like it did in the past. All that’s there is him, and the ticklish scratch of his beard, but I don’t pull away. I drape my arms around his shoulders and relish the closeness.
His voice is deeper as he says, “You have sixty-one of those tiny golden freckles, and seven shades of green in your eyes.”
“Katsurrel,” I whine, and he hugs me tighter, his lips ghosting against my neck.
“When you were asleep those days, I tried to count your eyelashes, but I lost track at two hundred and fifty. It’s more than that, but not by much.”
Tears pool in my eyes. My chest used to be so barren… so empty… but now it’s full of his lightness. A quiet sob slips loose, and Reyes whines as he kisses my neck again, then my jaw. “Don’t cry, sirrha.”
My bottom lip wobbles as I press my nose into his hair. “Happy tears.”
“Those are the best kind,” he agrees as his thumb spins slow circles on my lower back. “When you’re ready, I have a few things for you at my house.”
“More presents?” I ask with a sniffle.
“Yes, stuff I brought with me from the camp… fresh sheets, blankets, and a few pillows. Some glasses and plates for the kitchen, and a couple of towels and a curtain for the shower. Oh, and a rug to put beside your bed. It’ll keep your feet from getting cold when you wake up.” A grin tugs at my lips. Reyes loves his things, and though we don’t spend much time at his house, I’m always fascinated when I peek inside the boxes he stores there.
“Don’t you need them?”
“Mmm,” he hums, lifting his head to kiss me sweetly. “I needyou, and I want to take care of you like you deserve.”
“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper before I lose my nerve. Eyes darting around my face, he hesitates, and I sense the argument brewing on his tongue. “Don’t say no,” I beg, and his gaze softens further. “Please? I want you, I want… I just… Iwant.”
“I would love that,” he says, his voice low and sincere. He glances outside at the early evening sun, still tracing shapes on my back. “Why don’t we clean up and eat dinner, and then we can grab your new things from my house?” I nod, pulling him in for another hug before he lifts me from the counter and sets me on the ground.
Dinner is a bowl of scrambled eggs and vegetables, with a side of smoked meat for Reyes. He’s ravenous after working all day, and I grin as I watch him inhale his food. When he catches me, his eyes widen, and he wipes a stray piece of egg from his lips sheepishly. I laugh again, and this time, I’m aware.
Seven laughs.
We clean our dishes and collect the things from inside his house. A green and white rug, blue sheets for the bed, and a blanket he calledcrow-shaythat is a rainbow of purples, reds, and oranges that remind me of the sunset. While we’re there, I stop and look at the stack of books that sits next to his bed, and my eyebrows shoot up at the pictures on the front of them.
“These are the naked man books Elas does not like,” I say, and a high-pitched laugh leaves his throat as he steps up beside me. Broad chests and defined abs decorate the covers, and I’m suddenly aware of my small stature. “This is why you push me to eat more? How you want me to look?”
“Gods, no,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in his response. He takes the book from my hands and grips my arms, forcing me to face him. There’s so much sincerity in his expression, such honesty in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe his words. The panic that was creeping in recedes, and I can breathe again.
“How many times have I told you that you’re perfect?” he demands.
“Twenty-two.”
His eyes go wide. “You counted?!”
My lips twitch, and I laugh again. Eight laughs. “No,” I say with a grin that hurts my cheeks. “I made it up.”
