She shut her eyes, her expression agonized. For a long moment she was silent. I waited eagerly, which probably wasn’t the brightest reaction. But it was such a relief to finally understand the other half of the story.
“In the hospital?” I asked.
Her eyes flashed up to mine. “I was appalled. I couldn’t believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you.” We both flinched as that word slipped out, and she continued quickly. “But the disaster had the opposite effect. I fought with Royal, El, and Jessamine when they suggested that now was the time… the worst fight we’ve ever had. Carine sided with me, and Archie.” She frowned sourly when she said his name. I couldn’t imagine why. “Earnest told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay.” She shook her head, a little indulgent smile on her lips.
“All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn’t understand you at all. But I knew that I couldn’t become more involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible. And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath… it hit me as hard as the very first day.”
She met my eyes again, and hers were oddly tender.
“And for all that,” she continued, “I’d have fared better if I had exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Beau.” She touched my cheekbone lightly with her fingertips. A shock ran through me at this casual contact. “Beau, I couldn’t survive hurting you. You don’t know how it’s tortured me”—she looked down, ashamed again—“the thought of you, still, white, cold… to never see your face turn red again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses… I couldn’t bear it.” She lifted her glorious, agonized eyes to mine. “You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.”
My head was spinning at this rapid change in direction. Just minutes ago I’d thought we were talking about my imminent death. Now, suddenly, we were making declarations.
I gripped her hand tighter, staring into her golden eyes.
“You already know how I feel. I’m here because I would rather die with you than live without you.” I realized how melodramatic that sounded. “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”
“You are an idiot,” she agreed with a laugh, and I laughed with her. This whole situation was idiocy—and impossibility and magic.
“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb,” she murmured. The word was like another electric jolt to my system.
I tried to cover my reaction. “What a stupid lamb.”
She sighed. “What a sick, masochistic lion.”
She stared into the forest for a long time, and I wondered what she was thinking.
“Why…?” I began, but then paused, not sure how to continue.
She looked at me and smiled; sunlight shimmered off her face, her teeth. “Yes?”
“Tell me why you ran away from me before.”
Her smile faded. “You know why.”
“No, I mean, exactly what did I do wrong? I need to learn how to make this easier for you, what I should and shouldn’t do. This, for example”—I stroked my thumb across her wrist—“seems to be all right.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault.”
“But I want to help.”
“Well…” She thought for a moment. “It was just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alienness.… I wasn’t expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your throat—” She broke off, looking to see if she’d upset me.
“Okay.” I tucked my chin. “No throat exposure.”
She grinned. “No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else.”
She raised her free hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck. I held very still, recognizing that the chill of her touch was supposed to be a natural warning, and wondering why I couldn’t feel that. I felt something else entirely.
“You see?” she said. “Perfectly fine.”
My blood was racing, and I wished I could slow it down. It must make everything so much more difficult for her—the thudding pulse in my veins.
“I love that,” she murmured. She carefully freed her other hand. My hands fell limp into my lap. Softly she brushed her hand across the warm patch in my cheek, then held my face between her small, cold hands.
“Be very still,” she whispered.
I was paralyzed as she suddenly leaned into me, resting her cheek against my chest—listening to my heart. I could feel the ice of her skin through my thin shirt. With deliberate slowness her hands moved to my shoulders and her arms wrapped around my neck, holding me tight against her. I listened to the sound of her careful, even breathing, which seemed to be keeping time with my heartbeats. One breath in for every three beats, one breath out for another three.
“Ah,” she said.
I don’t know how long we sat without moving. It could have been hours. Eventually, the throb of my pulse quieted. I knew at any moment it could be too much, and my life could end—so quickly that I might not even notice. And I still wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t think of anything, except that she was touching me.