Page 91 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
“Lumina!” he rasped. “Lumina!”
Her eyes drifted open. Bright-orange licks of flame were reflected over and over in their depths. Behind her, fire burned and churned hellishly bright. Superheated air lifted her hair to float around her head, a golden halo of light. A chair coasted by in slow motion, weightless, turning, along with the pillow and other suspended debris: Books. A framed picture. A pair of boots he recognized as his own.
Lumina blinked lazily, smiling as if returning from a pleasant dream. But then her eyes flew wide, wide open, and she froze, grasping what had happened.
Instantly, the fire was extinguished. The roaring flames disappeared. The floating boots and books and all the other weightless flotsam fell to the floor with a clatter and a thud, and all that was left was a strong scent of smoke and a curl of gray fume rising from the sheets.
In the silence, his heartbeat was thundering loud.
“Are you hurt?” Lumina’s voice was a terrified whisper, a tone that perfectly matched the look on her face.
“No.” He gazed in wonder down at her naked body, wrapped around his. There wasn’t a mark on either of them. Carefully, he moved his head and looked around the room. It was in shambles, but miraculously, nothing looked burned. He looked back at Lumina. “That was new,” he said, trying for a nonchalant tone. With interest, he noted he was still buried deep inside her, and still hard. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. Do you think the rest of the house . . .”
“I think it’s probably fine, but I’ll check.” He paused. “In a minute. Right now I’m too busy having a heart attack.”
A tiny laugh escaped her lips, verging on hysterical. “Well. We gave new meaning to the phrase light the bed on fire, didn’t we?”
Sobering, Magnus said, “You’re a miracle. Do you know that? A miracle. There’s nothing else like you in all the world.”
She made a sound that could have been humor or horror. “Lucky me.”
Magnus took her face in his hands, and gently kissed her lips. “No,” he murmured, flush with wonder. “Lucky me.”
She returned his kiss, first tentatively, then with growing hunger. He shifted his weight and brought them both down to the mattress, displacing a soft pouf of smoke from the sheets. Propping himself up on one elbow, he ran his open hand over her skin, caressing the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. His hand came to rest on a few words in delicate, slanting cursive tattooed on her rib cage on her right side, and he traced them with his fingertips.
I listened to the bray of my heart; I am I am I am.
“It’s a quote from The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath,” she said quietly. “I was a huge book hound when I was young. Still am, I guess. It kept me sane, reading those words. It was validation for me. Like, I’m here, even if no one wants me to be. Even if I’m pretending to be something I’m not. Even though I’m hiding, even though I’m unseen, I still exist. I am. And no one can ever take that away from me. No matter how hard the world tries to crush it, my heart just won’t give in. I won’t give in. Ever.”
Magnus was gripped with fierce admiration. He leaned down and gave her a passionate kiss, his hand wrapped around her jaw. When he broke the kiss, she was breathless and wide-eyed beneath him.
“I had no idea talking books could get a man so worked up,” she said, laughing. “If you like I can recite a little poetry next.”
“You told me I was courageous,” he said gruffly, brushing aside her comment. “But the things I do, I do to make amends. That’s not real bravery. Of the two of us, you’re the brave one, not me.”
She looked up at him, tenderly stroked a lock of hair away from his eyes. “You don’t always have to be so hard on yourself, Magnus. Sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning is an act of courage.” Her fingers lingered on the scar tissue on the side of his face, and he looked away, jaw tightening.
She didn’t ask, though he knew she desperately wanted to. He could feel how hard she tried to hold her tongue. It wasn’t as if he would’ve answered, anyway, but he appreciated her restraint, appreciated how hard it must be for her to let the moment slide, to leave the question unasked, though they’d just shared every intimacy a man and woman could share. He closed his eyes and breathed, then turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.
“I’ll go check to make sure they’re all right,” he said, meaning their hosts. He guessed there was no imminent danger, guessed the house had taken no more damage than their room, but he suddenly needed to get away from the unspoken words that lingered between them, silent as ghosts.
What happened to you?
What, indeed.
He swiftly rose and dressed. He left her on the bed, bare and lovely, watching him with her angel eyes, and he’d never felt such desolation. Such endless, aching loss.
He already knew the end to this fairy tale. There would be no salvation by faith, no eleventh-hour reprieve. He walked, however willingly, toward his own death, and the thing that made it more than tragic was the knowledge that he’d finally—finally—found the thing for which he’d been searching for years.
A reason to live.
He checked on the elderly couple; they were fine, if spooked by the noise and the smell of fire. The house had taken no damage, and he assured them everything was all right. When he came back in the room he shared with Lumina, he found her dressed and waiting.
“We have to go now,” she said, her voice hollow. She avoided looking directly at him.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
