in its way—its backward way, like not being able to use his magic—that Lindsay was bound to the feral. Noah hadn’t known how being given to someone like Lindsay would affect him, whether he’d be troubled and conflicted by Lindsay’s beauty and fragility. There was nothing fragile about Lindsay’s magic, and with Dane in the picture, Lindsay’s appearance and magnetism became irrelevant.
Cyrus wasn’t as capricious as he seemed.
In spite of how haphazard life here could be, Noah was starting to relax. Maybe starting to heal. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the steps. As much as he didn’t want to heal, as if Elle could never truly be gone as long as Noah carried the wound of her absence, it was hard to like the man he was when he was steeped in grief and mad with self-loathing. He was going to die or live, Rose had said sagely. Life meant healing. It didn’t allow a wound to gape. Noah could have his scars, but not the wounds.
“They left you home alone?” Noah hadn’t paid attention to the back door opening, but he couldn’t ignore the sultry voice.
“Hardly alone,” he pointed out. “Unless I’m hearing voices now?”
“No, I’m real.” Kristan’s laugh was low and rich. Her voice and her name were familiar, but he’d avoided her enough that he didn’t know her face. “If I weren’t, I’d have my own cigarettes, wouldn’t I?”
She sat down on the top step, close enough that Noah could feel her there, but not close enough to touch.
“I guess you would.” Noah could take a hint. He handed her the pack with the lighter tucked into it.
“Don’t lose that lighter. It’s my last.”
“Is not.” Kristan took a cigarette and lit it—Noah heard the rustle of the pack and the scratch of the lighter. “There’s three in the drawer in the kitchen and I found one on the front steps this morning. Is that your magic? Spontaneously spawning flammables?”
“Something like it.” Noah reached for the pack and she gave it up, trailing her fingers over his as she did. It should have irritated him, but maybe he was too drunk for that right now. He wasn’t sure he’d had that much, but he lost track of everything so easily. Lighters. Bottles. Days.
“Show me?” She moved down to sit closer, leaning forward. When he opened his eyes, her face was inches from his. He could smell her tumble of brassy hair, sweet and warm, like violets at noon.
“Would if I could, but I can’t.” He shrugged and sat up, picking up the bottle between his feet to take another drink.
“Why not?” Her words stroked the back of his neck. Her fingertips followed, leaving cold trails behind. “Are you broken?”
“Just got the safety catch on. Don’t want to burn us all in our sleep.”
“Looks like someone closed the barn door after the horses got out, in that case,” she said, tracing the lines of healed burns on his scalp and down the side of his neck. “They shouldn’t have let you get hurt.”
Noah wanted to protest—the touch was making his stomach churn—but his body wouldn’t move away. As much as he wanted to go, there was a heat in him that wanted to be closer. Every breath he took, it got worse, like his lungs were a bellows and his belly was a forge.
“It was my fault.”
It was all his fault. He’d been the one driving. The moment the pickup in front of him had slammed on the brakes, Noah knew he’d been following too closely. Another car had hit them from behind. He’d been turning to see why Elle was sobbing, to comfort her, when—in the rearview mirror—he’d seen the lights of the tanker coming up out of the fog, too fast to stop.
“I’m sure it was an accident.” Kristan was so close now, sitting right beside him, her hand on his wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Noah wanted to roar at her to stop, but he didn’t have the breath for it. Something in the back of his head was flailing with terror, trying to flee.
“No,” he managed to say. “I
Cyrus wasn’t as capricious as he seemed.
In spite of how haphazard life here could be, Noah was starting to relax. Maybe starting to heal. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the steps. As much as he didn’t want to heal, as if Elle could never truly be gone as long as Noah carried the wound of her absence, it was hard to like the man he was when he was steeped in grief and mad with self-loathing. He was going to die or live, Rose had said sagely. Life meant healing. It didn’t allow a wound to gape. Noah could have his scars, but not the wounds.
“They left you home alone?” Noah hadn’t paid attention to the back door opening, but he couldn’t ignore the sultry voice.
“Hardly alone,” he pointed out. “Unless I’m hearing voices now?”
“No, I’m real.” Kristan’s laugh was low and rich. Her voice and her name were familiar, but he’d avoided her enough that he didn’t know her face. “If I weren’t, I’d have my own cigarettes, wouldn’t I?”
She sat down on the top step, close enough that Noah could feel her there, but not close enough to touch.
“I guess you would.” Noah could take a hint. He handed her the pack with the lighter tucked into it.
“Don’t lose that lighter. It’s my last.”
“Is not.” Kristan took a cigarette and lit it—Noah heard the rustle of the pack and the scratch of the lighter. “There’s three in the drawer in the kitchen and I found one on the front steps this morning. Is that your magic? Spontaneously spawning flammables?”
“Something like it.” Noah reached for the pack and she gave it up, trailing her fingers over his as she did. It should have irritated him, but maybe he was too drunk for that right now. He wasn’t sure he’d had that much, but he lost track of everything so easily. Lighters. Bottles. Days.
“Show me?” She moved down to sit closer, leaning forward. When he opened his eyes, her face was inches from his. He could smell her tumble of brassy hair, sweet and warm, like violets at noon.
“Would if I could, but I can’t.” He shrugged and sat up, picking up the bottle between his feet to take another drink.
“Why not?” Her words stroked the back of his neck. Her fingertips followed, leaving cold trails behind. “Are you broken?”
“Just got the safety catch on. Don’t want to burn us all in our sleep.”
“Looks like someone closed the barn door after the horses got out, in that case,” she said, tracing the lines of healed burns on his scalp and down the side of his neck. “They shouldn’t have let you get hurt.”
Noah wanted to protest—the touch was making his stomach churn—but his body wouldn’t move away. As much as he wanted to go, there was a heat in him that wanted to be closer. Every breath he took, it got worse, like his lungs were a bellows and his belly was a forge.
“It was my fault.”
It was all his fault. He’d been the one driving. The moment the pickup in front of him had slammed on the brakes, Noah knew he’d been following too closely. Another car had hit them from behind. He’d been turning to see why Elle was sobbing, to comfort her, when—in the rearview mirror—he’d seen the lights of the tanker coming up out of the fog, too fast to stop.
“I’m sure it was an accident.” Kristan was so close now, sitting right beside him, her hand on his wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Noah wanted to roar at her to stop, but he didn’t have the breath for it. Something in the back of his head was flailing with terror, trying to flee.
“No,” he managed to say. “I
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