She rushed over to the shelves, craning her neck to peer up at the highest one. "Hang on, I knowWitch, Pleaseis up here somewhere..." Board games were stacked in a precarious, wobbly tower of colorful boxes, and she could just make out the familiar purple lettering. "I love games, but if you'd rather not play, that's fine. I just figure we shouldn't sit around and stare at each other until I go to bed."
Instead of waiting for his response, she began to climb. The lower shelves were sturdy enough, and she'd done this a dozen times before. Her feet found purchase on the second shelf, then the third, fingers stretching toward the coveted game box.
"Goldie, that’s not stable?—"
Her fingertips brushed the edge of the box, and it tilted. For one heart-stopping moment, she felt her balance give way, the shelf groaning ominously beneath her feet as gravity betrayed her.
Then, strong arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against a solid chest before she could fall. The game clattered to the floor, forgotten, as Goldie found herself caught in a secure embrace that sent a jolt of warmth spiraling through her body.
For a suspended moment, neither of them moved. Goldie was acutely aware of Splice’s arms around her waist, the press of his chest against her back, the way his breath stirred the hair at her temple.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as, slowly, she tilted her head back to look at him. His leaf-shadow-green eyes were fixed on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and something shifted in his expression. When he began to lean down, it felt less like a choice and more like gravity drawing them together.
Their lips met.
It wasn't an urgent, frantic embrace. This was slow and careful. A question asked in the barest brush of skin, a tentative answer given in the soft parting of her lips.
Goldie's bodysangin response. Something vast and green and ancient whispered at the edges of her consciousness, like the slow heartbeat of the earth itself.
When Splice lifted his head, they simply stared at each other, the silence humming with the undeniable awareness thatsomething had shifted, as subtle and inevitable as a leaf turning toward the sun.
A faint blush bloomed on Goldie's cheeks as she found her voice. "So… is that a yes on board games?"
A strangled sound escaped the back of Splice’s throat. A flicker of that same hunted look from their first encounter flashed in his eyes. "I… I'm sorry…"
He released her and took a hasty step back, nearly tripping over the fallen game box. He managed to catch his balance, but his composure was a lost cause. For a heart-stopping moment, Goldie’s stomach clenched.
Here we go again, she thought, bracing for the impact of his departure.
Except, he didn't bolt.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath, a motion that looked profoundly unnatural for him, as if he were manually operating lungs he'd only just discovered. He ran a hand through his dark, vinelike hair, then squared his shoulders.
"I need to check on Mycor," he said, and while the words came out strained, they were deliberate. He met her eyes again, and beneath the lingering uncertainty, there was something new and resolute.
"But I will be back. Tonight."
The words hung in the air between them. The awkwardness of a moment ago was still there, but it was now overlaid with strange, thrilling promise.
A slow, genuine smile broke on Goldie's face. "Okay. Go check on him. I’ll see you soon."
As the door clicked shut behind him, Goldie pressed a palm to her chest, feeling her own heart hammering against her ribs.
Calm down, she told her body sternly, though the phantom echo of ancient green power still echoing in her veins.Just... calm down.
But her pulse refused to settle.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
He had spent the better part of the evening pacing the atrium, the memory of the kiss replaying in a relentless loop. He had tried to categorize the event and file it away as a necessary component of their investigation.
A sleepover to monitor her sleepwalking. Observation and protection. Nothing more.
He repeated the words like a mantra, a shield against the rising tide of... something else. Something that had nothing to do with tactics and everything to do with the memory of her lips against his, a sensation that made the vines coiling beneath his collar twitch.
