Ignite (32 page)

I shake my head, ready to protest, but before I can, he silences me with a kiss. He traps my face within his hands, holding me gently, like I’m sculpted from ice. And in a way, I am. But under his touch, I warm. The ice cracks.

I kiss him back harder, showing him I’m not as breakable as he thinks. Heat courses between us, traveling out from his touch. The warmth dances across my skin and penetrates into my veins, the blood coursing like fire following a rivulet of gasoline until I’m entirely consumed. I walk him backwards and shove him against the shower wall, sliding my arms up his chest and around his neck only to tangle my hands in his wet hair.

I want you. I don’t want anyone else.
His golden voice is soft in my head, whispering like smoke from a snuffed candle. I gasp, breaking away. His eyes are bright blue and water clings to his coppery eyelashes. He stares at me unwaveringly.
It’s you, Pen. It will always be you.
I trace his lips with my finger, daring him to say it out loud.

“Pen.” My name falls from his mouth desperately.

He grabs my waist and spins us around so I am leaning against the cool tiles of the shower. He kisses me again sweetly before letting go—too soon, my head sings—and stepping out of the shower. He never turns his back to me as he makes his way over to the bathroom door, and the smile never leaves his lips.

“I’ll be waiting out here,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you, I swear on my life.”

I watch him, my lips parted and my head dizzy, as he steps out of the room and pulls the door closed in front of him. The door clicks lightly into place and he’s gone. I let my head fall back on the shower wall and I close my eyes.

This boy will be the death of me
, I think quietly, letting out a long breath.

Chapter 26

When I come out of the bathroom dressed in a long, clean t-shirt and loose pajama pants, the sun is still rising slowly in the sky. It shines weakly through the window that looks down onto the city, and it casts a soft pink light throughout the room. I tiptoe over to the bed, pulling off my necklace and hanging it on one of the lamps above the nightstand. With Michael, I feel the need to distance myself from Azael, and I don’t want him to be the one to wake me up again.

I find Michael waiting for me in the pillowy bed. He’s asleep, lying on top of the white comforter, his dark jeans dry and his feet and chest bare. His legs stretch down the length of the bed and his hand is thrown over his head, resting above his damp, golden curls. I see his shirt crumpled on the ground in front of the closet, still wet from the shower. His eyes are closed and his mouth is opened slightly, his breath whistling quietly.

I slide into the bed next to Michael and slip under the covers, my damp hair fanning out on the pillow beneath me. I watch him sleep, his tan chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, the corded muscles expanding and contracting.

“I’m falling for you, too,” I confess to him, knowing he won’t hear me. “And I’m terrified.” Hesitantly, I inch nearer to him, but not so close that I’m touching him.

He yawns and turns towards me, his eyes opening sleepily. “Pen,” he says, his voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” I whisper back. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I don’t mind.” He reaches out his arm and shifts me closer to him. “I told you I wouldn’t leave.”

I roll over so my back is pressed to his chest and his arm is draped over my waist. This is new to me, this kind of closeness, and I feel my nerves buzzing just below my skin. I lace my fingers through his and let my eyes close.

“You’re so cold.”

“I’m sorry.” I start to let go of his hand, but he grabs on tighter.

“It’s not a complaint, just an observation. I’m burning up—you feel nice.” He brushes his lips against my neck. “Stay.”

“Oh,” I say simply, my head spinning from his touch. “Okay.”

He wraps his arm around me, pulling me even closer to him. “Goodnight, Pen,” he breathes in my ear.

“Goodnight, Michael,” I whisper back. “Sleep, and I’ll chase away any nightmares.”

“How can I have a nightmare when I’m already in the middle of a dream?”

I roll my eyes. “Goodnight,” I say again, settling against him.

We fall asleep together, tangled in one another’s embrace as the sun continues to rise unhurriedly into the city’s steel sky.

***

5:23PM.

That’s what the red numbers of the clock blink when I finally wake up and rub the sleep from my eyes. Michael still has his arm draped around my waist, but it is no longer soft and relaxed. He grabs me, my waist trapped against the tense and unmoving muscles of his abdomen.

“Michael?” I shake his arm, trying to wake him up, but he doesn’t let go. He just grabs me tighter, crushing me against him painfully. “Michael!”

I squirm in his arms until I break free of his grip, sit up, and turn to face him. His face is pinched, contorted in either pain or fear—I can’t tell. His eyebrows are knotted together fiercely, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight. He is covered in a light sheen of sweat, all of his muscles hard and rigid under his hot skin, and I run my hand over his chest. I can feel his heart pounding furiously beneath my hand.

Michael, wake up. Listen to my voice. You’re just dreaming.
I lean forward and kiss his eyebrows, feeling them relax under my lips.
Wake up. You’re fine. I’m here with you.
I place another soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He twitches once under my touch, the muscle at the top of his arm bouncing.

I press my cold hand on his hot forehead.
Please wake up. Come back to me.

His eyes fly open, his pupils huge and wild as they flick around the room anxiously. He doesn’t see me at first, and he starts to push himself up on the bed, against the dark cushioned headboard, but I hold him down, resting my hands gently on his shoulders. He claws at his chest, closing his eyes against whatever pain he’s feeling, so I place one of my hands over his, stilling his searching fingers.

He closes his eyes and in a strangled sound says, “It burns. Please, it
burns
.”

I move my hand under his, my icy fingers pressed over his warm, hammering heart.

“Relax. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“You’re—” His eyes open again. He looks at me for a moment, confused, and then his eyes soften as his shoulders lower. “You’re here,” he breathes.

I feel his heartbeat slowing under my palm, eventually returning to a normal rhythm.

I take a slow, deep breath and smile shakily. “I’m here. It was just a nightmare.”

He reaches up and hugs me to him, burying his face in my hair. “Thank you.”

After a moment, I remove my palm from his chest and bring my arms around him too, hugging him back. He doesn’t seem to be in pain anymore. It’s like it evaporated when he looked at me.

“You saved me from my nightmare,” I say. “I’m just returning the favor.”

He lets go and leans up against the headboard, pulling me to sit next to him. Our arms brush and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember,” he says, knotting his fingers in the sheets. “The only thing I can remember is hearing your voice call my name. And then a horrible fire in my chest.”

I glance over at the small white scar that sits just over his heart and reach out to touch it. I set my hand on it and he shivers. “The burning’s gone now?” I ask.

He nods, watching my hand closely. I let it slide down his chest to his abdomen, lingering a moment before pulling it back into my lap and knotting my hands together.

“I wouldn’t have known you were having a nightmare if you hadn’t told me before… Your arm locked around me, and I had to break free. You weren’t moving.” I shake my head. “You were so still.”

The muscle in his jaw tenses. Through his teeth, he asks, “Did I hurt you?”

He looks away from me, waiting anxiously for my answer.

“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He lets out a breath I didn’t notice he was holding.

“You only scared me,” I tell him. “My nightmare was so different.”

“I remember.” He leans his head onto mine and picks up my hand to hold between his. “You were screaming and thrashing out. It was like you were being attacked.”

My breath catches.

“But you didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says softly.

“No,” I acknowledge. “I didn’t. I had you.”

He turns my hand over in his and studies my scars, tracing the small, delicate reminders of war.

“I still wonder about your nightmare. You never told me what you dreamed. You began to when you woke up and thought I was Azael. You said something about seeing yourself dead.”

I sigh. “I did.”

“What happened?” His fingers freeze and he looks over at me through coppery eyelashes.

I tuck my feet under myself and remove my hand from his to clutch at the blankets as the nightmare comes rushing back to me.

“I was in the forest.” I twist the sheet between my fingers, fidgeting against the memory, and close my eyes. I feel Michael take both of my hands in his again, and even though I know he can feel them tremble, he doesn’t let go. He places his other hand on top of mine to stop the shaking, holding them securely in his own.

“If it’s too much—”

I shake my head, seeing my nightmare replayed on the backs of my eyelids. “It’s not.” When I open my eyes, I can still see the forest, the moonlight, the shadows. But I also see Michael here, in this hotel room, in the sunlight of the late afternoon. The fear isn’t overwhelming when I can ground myself here, when I can ground myself in the now. “I heard a scream, and I ran towards it, up into a clearing. There was a shadowed man standing above a figure that had fallen to the ground, dead. He had stabbed her with a great sword. I couldn’t see the person on the ground or the face of the shadowed man.”

I pause and he squeezes my hand reassuringly.

“A second shadow joined the first and was told to take her soul.”

“Her?”

“The figure, the dead girl. But when he went to look for her soul, he said he couldn’t find it. She didn’t have one.”

“She was infected with the Lilim virus?” he guesses, but I shake my head no.

“I told them to show me their faces, but they couldn’t hear me. When I walked around the clearing to face them, I saw that the second shadow was Azael. The girl had a large wound in her chest and was covered in dark, black blood.” I swallow around a lump in my throat. “When the first shadow bent down, I recognized him.”

“Who was he?”

I look at him and into his impossibly blue eyes. “You.”

He stares back in disbelief. “It was me?”

I tear at my bottom lip with my teeth. “When you pushed the matted hair out of the girl’s face, I recognized her too.”

“The girl was you.” His eyes light up with understanding.

I nod.

“You dreamt that…” He pauses, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown. “That I killed you? And told Azael to take your soul?”

I’m silent.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “That’s why you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”

He turns sideways so he can look at me, still holding on to my hands. “I would never kill you, Pen. I would rather die myself than hurt you, than see you hurt.”

“Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for me,” I say forcefully, shaking my head. “Do you know what kind of burden it is to carry the life of someone with you? Someone who placed more value in your life over their own, decided that your life was worth
sacrificing
theirs for… It’s unbearable. It’s a burden I wouldn’t be able to handle.” I look at him carefully, searching his face. “Especially if it was your life I carried with me, if it was your sacrifice.”

“If you were to be hurt, if I lost you…” His voice fades. He leans forward, places his hand on my cheek, and rests his forehead against mine. “I would be lost without you.”

“When I had that dream—Michael, I didn’t know you then.”

“But you know me now. You have to know I would never…”

I trap his lips with mine. “I know. And I could never hurt you.”
Never.
The finality of the word echoes through my head. Strangely, I find that I’m not scared by it. I’m not afraid to tell Michael this, that his life is important to me. I rely on his breaths, his beating heart, and I could never take that away from him without losing myself. I will never hurt him.

He sits back and smiles. “Really?”

“Really,” I say seriously. I look around the room. “Speaking of which, where is your sword?”

“I left it in Heaven,” he says. “I didn’t think I would need it for anything. So I brought that instead.” He gestures to his crumpled shirt in front of the closet. Peeking out from under the dark green cotton is a small serrated blade. “It’s much less conspicuous.”

“I didn’t even see it,” I say surprised.

“That’s the point.”

I laugh and slide out of bed, walking over to the closet and picking up the blade by its smooth, black handle. “You know, you really shouldn’t leave this on the floor. I could have cut my foot on it.”