Chapter 30
thirty
Admonishments and Admissions
Bastian and I have barely spoken in two weeks. He helps repair the severely damaged books with his magic, and emerges from the shadows to give Oscar scritches, but otherwise, he avoids me…The first week was an agonizing, circular thought pattern.
What did I do wrong?
Is he mad at me?
What can I do to make it better?
The one time I asked what was going on, he lied and told me that nothing was the matter. I pushed him, and he just blooped away into a pile of ink, disappearing for nearly two days.
Then my period started and I owned up to the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. He agreed to be fuck buddies. Any butt-hurtedness on his end is all on him.
And now it’s the day before opening. I have just enough stock that I can add little decorations artfully placed between the sections to give the illusion of fullness.
I’ve been campaigning on my new social media page for a month and, while many of my followers are too far away to come into the shop, many have placed online orders.
I’ve been scanning in the last titles Bastian fixed all morning, when suddenly, he appears before me with another book in hand.
I give him a fleeting glance, because looking at him too long makes my heart pound like thunder, and my pulse rush.
Most of it is anger, but an undeniable portion is also desire.
I want him to talk to me. I want him to want me.
Oh god. When did that happen?
“You can set it in this pile,” I say, gesturing to the books I haven’t entered into the system.
“Caitlin,” he murmurs, and the tenor of his voice is different. No longer aloof and distant, he sounds like he’s in pain.
I glance up at him.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Vindication sings through my blood, but I can’t let him know how validated I feel. I turn my attention back to the books.
“Okay.”
He tsks. “I can feel your haughty delight, no matter how you hide it on the surface.”
I scoff and glare up at him. “I’ve done nothing wrong, but you have.”
“I know,” he says, his jaw flexing as he looks away.
I cross my arms.
“I apologize for allowing you to feel negatively after our last encounter.”
“Weird apology, but okay. Go on and explain yourself now.”
He shakes his head. “I cannot.”
“No, you can,” I say.
He glares at me.
“You have the capacity to describe what went through your head when you left me dripping in that bath after the best orgasm of my life and then refused to speak more than three words at a time to me for two weeks.”
The furrow in his brow deepens with every word.
We stare at one another in silence for a moment, and then he does it again, disappearing into an inky splotch on the ground.
“Yeah, just run away!” I roar at the walls as pins prick behind my eyes.
He reappears in a swirl of black, holding a new book in his hand—no not new. It’s Moby Dick. He’s refurbished it, but it’s the same old book I’d taken from the stash those months ago.
“This is the heart of my hoard. My lifeforce is tied to it. I can survive if this book survives,” he says as he holds it out to me.
Anger implores me to slap it away, but I ignore the urge…I am an adult, after all.
I take it with a sigh. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Keep it safe.”
I grimace, feeling the weight of responsibility in my hands. “Isn’t it safer with you?”
“It is.”
“So, why give it to me?”
He takes a breath to speak but stops with something on the tip of his tongue. He flusters for a moment, then growls. “Fine, give it back.”
“No!” I shout as I pull the book close to my chest.
“Then take care of it, or I’ll die,” he snarls, then disappears again.
I stick my tongue out at the air where he was, then look down at the book.
Its black leather binding is bumpy, and I can sense the seams. He can craft perfect shells for these books with his magic, yet he spent the time doing this one by hand.
He’d watched me mend the damaged books and learned to use my tools to fix this one.
Somehow that feels…wonderful. That he could’ve “cheated” but he learned from me instead and used my knowledge to rebind his book.
His soulbound book.
The words come back to me now from the bath. He’d told me about it then. If only I’d known what he meant, or how important it was—
Is.
How important it is.
And despite the dangers of letting me have it, he wants me to keep it safe.
Awareness dawns on me all at once.
It wasn’t just me developing real feelings this whole time. I wanted to fuck around because I thought I’d get the need out of my system, but I only etched him deeper into my story. Maybe I’ve written myself into his, too.
“Bastian, come back.”
He appears before me as if he never left.
I swallow the emotion building in my throat and look up at him. “I’ll take care of it.”
He huffs. “Good.”
I stand up from my desk and throw my arms around him. “I like you.”
He holds me back, even tighter. “I have somehow grown to care for you, too, pink flesh.”
“Somehow,” I challenge with a snort. “I’m very likeable.”
His talons comb through my hair and down my back. “You are. And I know I am not, so this is very confusing for me.”
“Well, anyone forced to live with you would eventually see your good side,” I say.
He grips the back of my neck and turns my head to look up at him.
“Not anyone.”
Warmth flutters through my chest and I sense the band of magic constricting around me like a protective serpent. He drops his head, leaning down into my space and taking up all the air.
“Only you,” he says again, his hazy eyes trained on mine.
All the admonishments I’d had prepared for him drift away on the heady sense of belonging and needing. He needs me. I belong with him.
My palms tingle like electricity begging to be unleashed. I lift my hands, placing them on his shoulders and closing the circuit. Power flows between us and I sense a deep connection unlike anything before. A vision of a blooming flower fills my periphery behind Bastian, blocking out the apartment.
“What’s happening?” I ask, each breath labored by my pounding heart.
His nails tickle my scalp as he fists my hair harder. “You’re falling in love with me.”
I huff. “Really?”
“Or your magic is pouring out uncontrollably,” he says, smirking.
I look down at my hands and see orange mist slipping from under Bastian’s shirt.
“Oh, shit.”
I pull my hands back and look at them. They’re just oozing magic.
“You’re over-full,” he says, stroking a thumb over one of my palms. “It has to come out.”
“What?”
He sighs. “Your vessel is small. It can’t hold all the magical essence you’ve created over the last two weeks. You haven’t practiced illusions or warded with me. You’re over-full.”
“What should we do?” I ask.
His smirk turns into a grin. “We should set up the first attraction.”
I’m giddy now. “The light show?”
“Yes indeed. I’ve figured out how to get a reader’s top-of-mind thoughts out of their head and into your magic, but only when they’re holding an open book.”
“You’re really incredible.” I’m smiling so hard it hurts, but then I remember something that makes me hurt in a different way, and my grin fades.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I’m just sorry you won’t be able to see what I make,” I say with a shrug.
He huffs. “Did you already forget? I can see your magic. It’s extrasensory rather than processed through my damaged optical nerves, but my brain processes the data all the same.”
“Oh! But it reminds me,” I say, whirling to the pile of books.
I grab the one I’d set aside and hold it out to him.
He takes it, then scowls. “I’ve consumed the story already.”
“I know, but I wanted to show you something special.”
I flip open the cover and grab his other hand, putting his first two fingers together. I press them to the page on the first raised letter, then slide them across.
He jerks a little, looking at me curiously. “What is this?”
“It’s braille, so you can read again,” I say, beaming. “I mean, I know you can consume the story by meditating but I thought maybe you’d like to actually read—”
His arm comes around me, and he pulls me tight against his chest.
“Thank you.”
I lay my face against his warm skin and sigh as he presses his lips to the crown of my head. Finally, it feels like the fight is over and I can breathe.
“Let’s not do that non-communication thing again, okay?” I say, looking up at him. “If something is going on, please talk to me.”
He tucks an errant hair behind my ear. The graze of his claw against my cheek makes me shiver.
“I’ll try my best,” he concedes.
“That’s all I ask.”
He smirks. “I’m grateful for your low standards.”
My eyes narrow. “Want me to make it a requirement, then?” I ask, putting my hand against the brand on my chest. “I’ll just keep bringing you back to me until you pipe up.”
He smiles, sweet and genuine. It makes my heart yearn forward, like it might become part of him. My palms are tingling again and I feel my magic slipping out.
He chuckles. “We better get you doing something productive, Kitty, before you leak all over the house.”