Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
I’m at the edge of the cliff, right where the ruin used to be, staring down into the water. Duncan stands at my side. Wind batters against us, slapping at our backs like it wants to push us over the ledge and into the water.
“There’s something down there,” I tell him.
He gives one of his tight-lipped nods and says, “Wanna find out?”
Then his hand is in mine, warm even though it’s raining. The sensation gives me shivers. I am abruptly extremely aware of his body next to mine, firm beneath all the layers he’s wearing.
I really, really want to explore that more.
“Yeah,” I say. “But first I want to ask you a weird question.”
He turns to me. Runs a hand along the line of my jaw, collecting the raindrops that have gathered there. Then he draws back, meets my eye, and sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth.
Heat floods my lower belly. Did he just do that? Is it weird or hot?
It’s both. Definitely both. Holy fuck.
He doesn’t break eye contact. I make a strangled little noise.
“Sure,” he says, and raises his eyebrows, like he’s waiting.
“I forgot my question.”
Taking a step closer to me, he says, “Want me to help you remember?” Then he’s pressed dangerously close to me, his mouth hovering at the shell of my ear. “Or do you want to forget your own name?”
“You should probably know that I’m a Libra and I hate making decisions,” I choke.
Then he’s flush against me, his chest to my back, murmuring, “Then let me decide.”
His hands slide down my ribs, my shoulders, reaching for the front of my slacks, teasing at the button there, then drifting lower.
When he grinds against me, I can feel his arousal, and fuck, fuck, I’m really going to let him have his way with me right here on the edge of a cliff, no questions asked.
I should probably take control, do something besides shiver as his hand sneaks beneath the hem of my shirt, skating over my abdominals. He sucks a bruise just below my jaw, gives a contented hum that makes my dick twitch in its fabric prison.
Anybody could see us out here.
I should turn and face him, reciprocate. But every movement he makes is more tantalizing than the last—the slow grind of his hips, the scrape of nails across my skin, his tongue and teeth at my throat, his free hand reaching down to caress me through my jeans.
I melt against him, let him take over. Fuck, he can do whatever he wants with those clever hands.
I almost don’t notice the rumble at first. It’s distant, more vibration than sound. As soon as I blink my eyes open, it’s too late.
The ground gives way, and we tumble down into that writhing ocean. Beneath the turquoise waves, I glimpse dozens of faces, all staring up at me with bottomless, empty eyes. Their fins are ragged as the sails of drowned ships.
When I wake, I’m torn between arousal and horror.
These aren’t dreams, I think, fumbling wildly for my phone. Someone or something is trying to tell me something.
But they have to be dreams, I realize, taking a deep breath, blinking against the bright white of my screen. That was the beginning of a wet dream that somehow morphed into a nightmare, I’m sure of it. There is zero significance here. No message, only the desire that still burns molten in my belly.
I’ve definitely considered what it would be like to fuck Duncan. At this point, I like him well enough. He’s weird, but I’ve grown to appreciate his steady presence. When I don’t see him, I’m antsy.
But now, I’ve gone from idly wondering to full-on desperate.
Just a dream, I tell myself. He’s hot, but you don’t want him like that.
What if I do? What’s wrong with that? Jeremy’s already moved on. Why the fuck can’t I?
Fine, I decide after half an hour of tossing and turning. I can try to gauge Duncan’s interest, then go from there. I’m not totally sure if he’s attracted to men, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’s attracted to me.
Even if he isn’t, he seems like the kind of guy who would want to stay friends, who wouldn’t hold it against me for asking.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Duncan is safe. If he wanted to kill me, he’s already had a lot of opportunities.
At four a.m., I’m still awake. The gym won’t open for another hour, but my mind is whirling. On a whim, I drag one of Mom’s notebooks from the bin under my bed and slip out to the common area in just gym shorts and a t-shirt. There, under the dim light, I read through her divination journals.
They’re jarringly similar to my own. Her class was more advanced than mine, but she’s predicting the tides, recording the stars, practicing numerology.
Then I get to a section called, “Crystal ball training,” and things are… strange. Mom’s handwriting grows erratic. Her prophecies are short, only a line or two each, scrawled hurriedly.
I’m nauseated after reading them.
Underworld. Tunnels. A flood.
Pass the red door. Right, then left. Crumbling wall, broken staircase.
Grinning portrait. Chalice of seawater and blood.
When I turn the page, I find a human heart lovingly sketched. Blood spurts from the ventricles. Written inside are the names Nancy + Tobias + ?
I spend a long time staring at the heart. Tobias. Is that my dad? Am I the question mark? I flip around until I find a page dated March 22, 2003, and yep, this would’ve been Mom’s final semester at Halea. I arrived in October.
Among all these ominous predictions, I find the sigil again, next to a sketch of what I assume must be a mermaid tail, breaching the surface of the water.
Then a final line: Things are going wrong.
In history, Duncan and Jane flank my sides.
I can’t look at Duncan without blushing. Last night, I made a plan to determine his interest, but now that seems silly, overwrought.
Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask him?
But Jane is right next to me, and even if she wasn’t, I suspect the words would stick in my throat.
Duncan and I don’t actually know each other very well. Would probably never speak to each other if we weren’t linked by secrets. But I want to know him. I want to spend more time with him. Already, I’m looking for excuses to hang out. So why not ask?
I don’t even have to do it in person, I realize, when Duncan slips me another note just as Dr Ward calls on me. I could send a text.
But that feels weird and impersonal.
I stumble through a poor and vague explanation of magical effects on Civil War era weaponry. Jane winces, but Dr Ward looks proud.
“Well, someone did the reading,” she acknowledges with a twitch of her lips. Then she calls on Felix Cervantes to explain the consequences of those magical effects (a lot of accidental explosions, mostly), and I am left unusually delighted.
I don’t think I’ve ever answered a question to her satisfaction before.
The afternoon passes. I don’t have a chance to corner Duncan. By four p.m., I’ve given up.
I send a text. Want to go back to the beach?
This probably isn’t the best date idea. He must think I want him to supervise me in the water, like a toddler in a kiddie pool.
I should’ve asked if he wanted to go to a movie or something. Hike along the cliff. Go out for drinks. Eat dinner. Fuck in the backseat of his car. Literally anything else.
But he’s quick to respond. Sure :)
My stomach flips. When are you free?
He responds almost instantly. Now?
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, then open them. No time like the present.
See you soon.
The drive is quiet. I can’t stop fidgeting. A thousand conversation topics ricochet through my skull, and none of them are good enough.
What eventually comes out of my mouth is, “Did you hear we have to relocate dinner theater?”
The corners of his lips quirk. “They finally had enough, huh?”
“It wasn’t one of our better productions. Aleo’s furious.”
He snickers. “So where are you guys going?”
“No idea.”
“Feels like it’s gonna turn into one of those underground things where you have to tell a password to get in.”
“Maybe fewer people would witness my humiliation,” I joke.
“I think it would attract more people, honestly. Especially if Aleo’s running it. He’ll probably make it as trendy as possible.”
“Ugh.” I imagine Aleo advertising homemade hooch as part of the deal and wince. This is absolutely the kind of thing he would do.
By the time we park, the sun is just starting to set. Exhaustion has settled into my bones, but I force myself to stay awake, to step from the heated seat into the whipping wind.
“So what are we doing?” asks Duncan, leaning against the car, watching me expectantly. The light hits him just right, highlighting his high cheekbones, his soft mouth, the line of his jaw, the swoop of his bangs as they ruffle in the breeze. “Just observing, or…?”
“I wanted to walk,” I manage. I’m about to make things weird. I’m probably going to regret this.
But I have to ask. If I don’t, and nothing ever happens, it will haunt me for the rest of my life. Last night, I worried about rebounding, but I can’t let Jeremy control me anymore.
Besides, Duncan doesn’t feel like a rebound. I can’t really articulate why, but he feels safe, steady. Like home.
And I also want him to fuck me. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a winning combination.
We’re only a hundred or so feet from the water when I finally work up the courage to say, “Can I ask a weird question?”
He looks at me. “Can I give a weird answer?”
He’s joking. I’m not. “Um.” I hesitate. “No?”
That gets his attention. “So it’s a serious weird question.”
I should’ve waited until the sun set fully. My face is burning, and I’m sure he’s noticed. “Yeah. Hey, listen, I can ask another time—”
But he’s shaking his head. “No, no. Go for it.”
Briefly, I consider racing ahead and vanishing into the ocean. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should have accepted our friendship as it was.
I don’t say anything and he gives me a worried look. “Should I be concerned?”
I kick up sand with my rain boots, give a humorless laugh. “Maybe?”
The speech I practiced last night has erased itself from my memory. “I—Do you want to go on a date sometime? Or—” I think of every guy I’ve ever dated and how the relationship actually started, and panic. “Or we could just fuck,” I add hurriedly.
When I dare to look at him, he’s stopped in his tracks, staring at me, wide-eyed.
I have fucked up. It’s definitely time to disappear into the sea. I’m just going to have to hope I can figure out how to shift.
“Dominic,” he says, his voice strangled. “I, um, can’t do casual.”
Well, that makes two of us. “Who said anything about casual?”
He makes a face, says, “I don’t… I don’t want to just fuck you.”
This is the faintest glimmer of hope, but I latch onto it like a lifeline. “We can do other things,” I suggest, even as my heart sinks.
I shouldn’t have said anything. I overestimated my ability to handle rejection right now, especially when it comes from someone I actually like. Wrapping my arms around myself, I say, “Sorry. I told you it was going to be weird.”
Something about that must bother him, because he looks like he wants to contradict me. But he stays silent.
I sigh. Rub my jaw. “I think I misread some things,” I finally say. “Sorry. You can forget I said anything—”
“I didn’t say no,” he interrupts. “I just want to make sure I understand. You want to go on a date with me?”
I nod slowly, trying not to panic. “Yes.”
“OK. I don’t want to do a one-night stand or anything.”
“I just—” I blink sand from my eyes. “That’s just what I expect most people to want.”
“I can’t even begin to explain what a bad idea that would be.”
“OK.” Am I being rejected or not? I frown down at my boots. “Is that, like, a wolf thing?”
“Yeah,” says Duncan. As if to prove a point, his eyes flash yellow behind lashes so long they cast shadows in the setting sun. He crosses his arms, averts his gaze like he’s afraid to look at me. “It’s a wolf thing.”
“OK.” I scowl down at the ground, drag the toe of my shoe through the sand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
His hand flies out to meet my wrist, fingers hot as coals against my skin. I whip around to stare at him. He meets my eye.
“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” he says, stepping closer. “I don’t want to fucking scare you.”
Yup, his eyes are definitely yellow. I catch a glimpse of fangs in the dying light. We’re close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
I’m terrified and turned on at the same time.
And if I’m already terrified, why not go ahead and make things worse?
“OK,” I say, breathing raggedly. “Question: What if I’m into that?”
His answering laugh bubbles out of him until he’s doubled over, clutching at his middle and wiping his eyes. People glance over at us like they’re worried. I try to ignore them.
I’m sure this inspires confidence.
“I just—” He gasps for air. “I can’t tell you.”
“Tell me what? ‘No?’”
His fingers clamp tight around my wrist. Instead of trying to escape, I grit my teeth, glare him down.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he hisses.
I yank my wrist free. “I’m not following.”
He shakes his head. “You’re perfect,” he says, and kisses me hard, right on the mouth.
It’s the best and most unexpected kiss of my life, fierce and desperate. I’m instantly weak in the knees, kissing him back with fervor, clinging to the back of his coat for dear life. Strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me close, but I clutch him like I’m afraid he’s going to run away.
It’s so, so good, the fire of his lips against mine, the slide of our tongues, the way his hand fists in my jacket.
I’m rapidly losing the ability to think, but it’s probably fine—
A wave strikes against my calves. Freezing water fills my boots. I let out a shocked gasp and then remember that we’re in public.
We draw apart quickly, Duncan’s hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me out of the water.
I’m elated, heart pounding, skin tingling where he’s touched me.
All I want to do is kiss him again, but it’s too late.
The magic is waning. My socks are drenched.
With every step, I squelch like some kind of swamp monster.
Duncan’s expression goes from excited to tormented in a matter of seconds.
Am I the problem, or is he also struggling with wet socks?
Then he looks at me, eyes hooded, lips kiss-swollen, and beams.
I beam back.