Chapter 15 #3
‘And your eyes . . . they’re the colour of cornflowers, did you know that?
And you have this cute button nose. Plus, your hair .
. .’ He trails his hand through strands that I suspect are too messy to be in receipt of the amount of reverence they’re currently receiving. ‘It’s so soft and golden. I love gold.’
Well, that much is true. Of course having hair the colour of coin would be his favourite thing about me. Drug him with magic aphrodisiacs all you like, if there’s one thing I know about Astin, it’s that he’ll still be thinking about how to turn a profit.
To my right, something crunches, the sound of stone scraping on stone, but I can’t tear myself from him, not when I’m in his arms, when he’s looking at me the way nobody’s ever looked at me, when he’s saying things I’ve always dreamed about but never thought would come true.
‘Astin, we should . . .’ I have no idea what the end of this sentence is. I have several suggestions, none of which are appropriate.
‘Mm?’ He nuzzles my neck while running a hand down my side, like now he’s finally given himself permission to do this, he can’t find a way to break contact. When he reaches my waist, his fingers play with the ends of my blouse, pushing it up until his palm is splayed over my skin. ‘Is this okay?’
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Maybe once we’re out of this maze, he’ll change his mind.
Blame the powder entirely. Maybe this one moment is all I’ll get with him – it has to be the only moment I’ll get with him, because even if everything he says is true, I can’t risk being with him on a regular basis, not when my body is screaming for me to kiss him and one slip-up is all it would take to lose him.
I can’t have all of him, but I want to keep the memory of this night forever.
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘It’s okay.’ I place my hand over his and drag it higher up my body. ‘Touch me.’
He shudders, skimming the underside of my bra, but I feel his touch as though it were on bare flesh.
Even being on the ground, with the coolness of the grass seeping into me, does nothing to soothe the wildfire blazing within.
It’s the kind of overwhelming want I experience when I smell a particularly strong emotion, but worse because I don’t want to take anything from him, I want to give him all of me instead.
His thumb flicks over my breast while he presses his thigh against my core, making me arch against him, biting my lip to stop from crying his name.
His mouth tickles the shell of my ear, and then he drags those lips down until he finds a spot on my neck that makes me see stars when he sucks on the skin there.
My hands are greedy, pushing beneath his shirt, smoothing across his back before reaching between us. He hisses when I tuck a finger beneath his waistband, pressing himself against me.
‘Fuck.’ He drops his forehead against mine.
I wish we could. I wish we could do a lot of things. But aside from the public-decency situation, the longer we spend like this the more I have to fight the urge to tilt my head to find his mouth, to claim it with my own. I press my lips together, but this only draws his attention to them.
‘We can’t,’ I whisper.
‘I know.’ His nose grazes mine. His breath is hot, scented with sugar from the iced buns along with something sweeter, more floral, as it fans my face.
Every part of me is tight, tense, straining not to move, as his mouth hovers inches away.
This is stupid. Dangerous. For a heart-stopping moment – potentially literally, in his case – I’m convinced his upper lip brushes mine, the barest touch that fills me with dread, and it’s only when he pulls back, safe and alive, that I can breathe easy, clearly mistaken.
This should be the point I tell him to get up, that we’ll have to crawl out of this maze if that’s what it takes, but I’m greedy and needy and can’t bring myself to let go.
My mouth tingles with the echo of that phantom kiss.
There are so many words on my tongue I don’t know where to begin, and it’s painful to look at him. I turn my head – and gasp.
The statue’s open.
That crunching sound I heard and ignored, it was the base of the statue sliding apart.
Thank goodness we moved far away from the other contestants.
My excitement is enough for me to nudge Astin off me, although I immediately mourn his loss as I dive for the package tucked inside.
A white sheet is wrapped around something heavy.
It’s small enough to fit in my pocket, and I tuck it away before turning to Astin with a huge grin on my face.
A grin that immediately disappears.
Behind him, a black mist is swirling through the path leading from the maze; a mist that’s spreading, growing, launching itself upwards, morphing into a shape that has my heart lodging in my throat, preventing a scream from tearing free.
I’ve seen this before.
I’ve lived this before.
Hovering before us is a physical manifestation of every awful stolen emotion, stitched together into a creature fouler than the Souleater puppeteering its strings.
A wraith.