Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I remove the mask as I approach him, my heartbeat thumping louder with every step I take.
Yulian lies motionless, swallowed by white sheets, his skin nearly blending into them—more pale than I’ve ever seen him.
The color’s gone from his lips, and a fresh bruise blooms across one cheek, half hidden by the chaos of dark hair spilled over the pillow. His lashes are long, feathery, casting soft shadows onto sharp cheekbones. Even now, he looks…pretty. Not like a girl. Not delicate. Just…lethally striking in a strange way that knots something deep in my stomach.
My knees bend of their own accord, landing me at his side. The bed dips beneath my weight, and every inch of me sparks to life.
I sit there for a moment, trying to understand why my throat feels tight. This should feel like visiting a classmate or a friend, but it’s more…intense.
Confusing.
More akin to a penance.
His thick, long fingers lie limp on the bed.
I stare at them.
For one second, ten, twenty…
I stare long enough that the silence starts to claw at my ribs.
Then I reach out.
I don’t know why I do it. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until my fingers brush his—slowly, uncertainly—before closing around his hand.
He’s warm.
That’s the first thing that startles me. The warmth. The proof that his fingers aren’t cold anymore, and he’s alive.
But then the second thing hits me.
I don’t want to let go.
The realization crashes through me like a sucker punch to the ribs. My breath shudders and a tingle rushes down my spine.
I tighten my grip instinctively, and something sharp coils in my gut, expanding through my chest and flowing into my blood.
What the hell are these emotions?
I’m not supposed to feel this. Like I’m about to burst out of my skin just at the sensation of his hand in mine.
No. This isn’t right.
Especially not with him.
My heart’s hammering, though, too loud in the quiet, and completely uncaring about my logical thoughts.
I try to pull my hand back, but it won’t obey. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared to let him go or because something in me has already decided I can’t.
I won’t.
So I sit there as the monitor beeps, holding his hand like a coward, hoping he doesn’t wake up, terrified he might.
“What the hell have you done to me, Yulian?” I whisper, squeezing his hand tighter.
That’s when I realize my lips are tingling. Not in an abstract, nervous way, no. It’s a real, physical sense that makes my skin tingle and burn all at once.
A flood of memories bulldozes through me despite my resolve to bury it all.
The cave.
The silence.
The trembling breaths.
His mouth on mine.
I was about to fall asleep after wrapping my arms around him to stay warm like he said. I experienced a sort of discomfort as I did it, feeling his muscles beneath mine and being flooded by his scent.
Now that I’m holding his hand, I realize that wasn’t discomfort but something more.
A curse.
A hunger.
A need for something.
In the cave, however, I tried to quiet those thoughts as I drifted off, but I was wide awake the second I felt the press of lips against mine.
I still remember it all. The brush of skin against skin.
The shattering breaths.
The heat.
The hesitation.
The kiss was so soft, I thought I’d imagined it, but the thud in my chest had been so violent, I was sure he could feel it reverberate through me and crash against his back. I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to react, or, worse, what face to wear.
But now…
Now, I’m staring at his mouth.
At the faint swell of his bottom lip and the softness, despite losing some color.
My own lips part without permission. My throat’s gone dry, and yet my tongue feels thick and heavy, the air cloying in my lungs.
What am I doing?
This isn’t the same kind of desire I’ve felt before, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.
I’m straight. I’ve never looked at a guy and felt like…this. On edge, slightly nervous, crippled with fear and desire and recklessness.
Not to mention, I’ve only ever kissed and fooled around with girls, and so has he, considering all our sex and virginity talk that I, for some reason, disliked. I didn’t particularly enjoy listening to him recount his sexcapades, which is odd because I listen to Niko and the others talk about that all the time.
His hand in mine is obviously not a girl’s, thicker and masculine with protruding veins on the back, and yet it feels like the warmest, most beautiful hand I’ve ever held.
Not sure if it’s because our hands are about the same size, or that I appreciate the feel of hard ridges, but I definitely like it a lot more than anyone else’s.
And I shouldn’t.
I think of Danika—her soft voice and pretty smile. But any flutter of emotion I feel toward her pales in comparison to the goddamn tornado roaring through me now.