FIFTEEN #3
He reluctantly set his gaze back to their joined hands, his palm flattening against the back of hers pointed to the weight.
“Focus,” Silas uttered softly. “It’s you and the weight, nothing else exists.
Reach into yourself, feel the magic within and let it out, give it a voice, a home.
” Her shoulders, once stiff, relaxed against him, her breath uneven while he crooned gently into her ear. “Do you feel it?”
Her fingers moved against his, and Silas felt something shift in the air. A current, almost imperceptible.
And then…the weight twitched.
Barely. But enough. Enough that it scraped softly across the table.
Amelia exhaled sharply. “Oh…”
Silas’ heart soared, wondering if it were his feeling of triumph at her success, or if it were an echo of her euphoria.
“You did it, Winslow.”
Amelia’s arm fell, head falling back to tuck under his chin. “I…didn’t think it would…”
His heart was erratic, her body nestled against him. Their fingers lay near each other's on the tabletop, and he let his thumb shift to brush the side of her hand. “You moved it.”
Silas heard her uneven breathing. “It was barely anything.”
“It was everything.”
Amelia moved her hand away, twisting to face him. He didn’t step back. The space was minimal between them as she pressed back into the table, looking up at him. “Thank you.”
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes alight. Silas thought she had never seemed more beautiful. “Of course.”
She held his eyes intently, chest moving with her heightened breathing. “I still despise you.”
Head tilting, he scrutinised her. What he saw didn’t point to loathing.
His lips lifted into a smirk. “Is that so?” Silas gripped the bench’s edge next to her waist, moving to erase what little gap there had been between them.
Amelia lifted a hand to his chest, resting there against his sternum. She didn’t push him away.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You’re an arrogant know-it-all.”
“Better than knowing nothing.”
Her eyes never left his, something sharp passing between them. “You talk a lot for someone who rarely says anything meaningful.”
Silas’ hand brushed against her waist, and she thrillingly pressed closer. “You’re starting to like it, though, aren’t you?”
She scoffed lightly, blush deepening. “You are so full of—”
He pressed his mouth to hers, perhaps madly, silencing her.
Silas knew he had surprised her, by the soft gasp she had released the moment before his lips met hers. He didn’t know what he might have expected next, never truly believing he would kiss her, but it wouldn’t have been what happened.
Like a match struck in a dry forest, she responded.
Her lips against his were fierce and wanting, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t soft, but hungry. She tasted like adrenaline and lingering magic.
Needing more, Silas took the sides of her waist, lifting until she sat on the edge of the worktable. Something clattered to the ground, too easy to ignore, the heat of her body, the pressure of her mouth against his was entirely distracting.
She held him firmly at the back of his neck, a hand sweeping up into his hair and fisting there. He groaned into her mouth as he stepped closer, parting her legs, bringing them even closer.
He still wanted more.
Deepening the kiss, he explored her mouth, feeling her tongue with his own until she let out a soft, feminine moan that he knew would undo him. Silas could spend the rest of days here, moulded to her, and trying to pull more of those beautiful sounds from her throat.
She shifted against him, hips pushing into his body with delicious friction that caused him to shudder, a ripple of pleasure pulsing through his abdomen. Silas gripped at her thigh with his hand, needing more.
So much more.
And then Amelia pulled back. It was sudden, sharp, her upper body rearing back from him, eyes wide and uncertain, staring at him. Silas let her go, his breath catching as the space between them returned and he stepped quickly away.
They gaped at each other.
Silence lingered for a long moment.
Amelia blinked, face flushed and chest rising and falling as rapidly as his own. She slid from the workbench back onto the floor, reaching with trembling fingers to adjust her shirt.
“I should…” she began but didn’t finish, turning hurriedly away and grabbing the first thing within her reach, pretending to busy herself.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, heart racing. “Right. Yes. Of course.”
Amelia gestured to the weight, not looking at him. “We’ve made good progress,” she said conversationally, like the kiss hadn’t happened.
“Progress,” he echoed. “Yep.”
Silas rubbed at his mouth, adjusting his own askew shirt before reaching to run his hands through his mussed hair. He swallowed roughly, then returned to work.
They didn’t touch again that day.
But Silas could still feel her mouth on his as he returned to his notes, like a ghost of something impossible, and too late to undo.
At the end of another long day, they donned their winter cloaks, sheathed their daggers, and stepped into the frosty evening air.
Amelia hugged herself as they trudged up the road towards his home.
It was a long walk, the icy wind brutal against his skin, yet it was his favourite part of the day.
The fresh, albeit cold air, and the glow of the arcane lamps lighting the city streets, it was undeniably beautiful, reminding him strongly of his childhood. A time of joy and contentment.
Amelia uttered a small, uncomfortable noise. He turned his head, amused to find her teeth chattering, fingers tugging her scarf higher around her face, covering her mouth.
“How,” Amelia mumbled through the fabric, “do people actually live here willingly?”
Silas chuckled, trudging his way upwards, boots crunching in the light snow that swirled around them. “We adapt.”
She scoffed. “You freeze.”
He shook his head, hiding his smile. “We endure.”
Amelia slid momentarily, righting herself before Silas needed to intervene.
She then, rather sullenly, kicked at a piece of ice, which skittered across the thin sheen of snow.
“You suffer,” she moaned, shivering violently.
“I swear whoever made this place must have said, ‘ let’s build here, because don’t we just adore a brutal temperature that could kill you in minutes? ’ I swear…”
He snorted. “You would manage better if you dressed properly.”
Amelia looked to him indignantly. “I am dressed properly! I’m wearing your stupid cloak, and these gloves.”
He eyed her, unimpressed. “I’ve seen what you have on underneath.” Her mouth fell open, so he quickly clarified further. “I’ve told you about layers, and you have one shirt on under that cloak. Wear more layers; be more comfortable.”
She huffed, glancing away.
“You should feel honoured,” Silas said, earning a withering glare. “You’re getting the full Lunarian experience.”
“I’m honoured to have frostbite in each of my digits,” she grumbled.
He grinned. “If you pass out, I’ll carry you the rest of the way. Consider it Lunarian hospitality.”
“You know what? I hope you experience a summer in Ivory City, and I hope the heat makes you miserable . I hope you sweat so much you’ll think you’re dissolving.”
Silas chuckled, hands tucking into his pockets and entering through the gates of the Finley estate. “I think I’d survive, certainly with less whinging than you’re presently doing.”
“Uh-uh,” she said darkly, sending him an evil smile. “You’d suffer, with the way you’re used to such cold. I’ll enjoy every moment.”
The thought of being with Amelia during summer in her hometown had him feeling briefly giddy. That emotion collapsed in on itself, realising that might never happen. That they might not exist come summertime.
Keeping his face neutral, he said, “I look forwards to it.” But her smile had dropped, and he wondered if she had felt his emotional whirlwind.
She looked away, towards the looming estate, but paused.
Silas stopped uncertainly. Her eyes were trained forwards, a curious tilt to her head.
He followed her gaze, before sucking in a stunned breath.
A lone figure stood in the centre of the pathway ahead. Someone small in a riding cloak, hood pulled over their head, arms crossed tightly.
“Well, well,” came a soft, feminine voice which Silas hadn’t heard for a long while. His heart leapt. “He has returned.”
Amelia touched his arm, startling him. His head whipped to her.
“Who is it?” she asked, tone uncharacteristically soft.
Silas swallowed, glancing back to the hooded figure, who hadn’t moved. He let out a long breath. “My sister.”