He froze, midway to my lips.
“Liam got in your head, didn’t he?”
“He called you a corpse,” I mumbled, looking away.
He lifted my chin, forcing me to look back at him.
“You’re like a clenched fist with teeth.” The grip of his fingers tightened around my jaw. “You want to fight all the unjust in this world, but you second-guess everything you feel.Yes. I’m dead.”
I swallowed hard. I wanted him to shut up. I didn’t want to be reminded of his deceased state of being.
“Does death make you stop loving someone?” he asked.
“That’s a horrible question,” I whispered, knowing full well it didn’t. But, the real question was: Could someone fall in love with a dead person? His eyes lingered longingly into mine. Not one inch of that man looked like a corpse. His chest, hard and broad and strong, even moved up and down as he breathed.
“I was seven when I died,” he murmured, leaning forward and brushing his cheek against the corner of my jaw. I closed my eyes when his fingertips, lighter than feathers, trailed over my throat, and his lips pressed down against the hollow just under my ear.
I could barely concentrate on the questions I wanted to ask him. When? How? Are you going to kiss me again? “What…happened?” I sighed, moving into his touch.
His fingers slowly traced over my collarbone and warmth spread over my skin. “My father didn’t want to live as a human any longer, and he took us with him.” He hesitated for a moment, taking a breath. “You have other questions, don’t you?”
“Only about a million,” I whispered. “Maybe a million and one.”
He leaned back, taking a deep breath and nodded. “Come here then,” he said, climbing off the bed and pulling the sheets down. “Climb in, ask me anything. I’ll answer all of it until it’s time for me to go.”
I slid under the sheets, facing him.
“How did he take you with him?” I asked.
He slipped under the covers alongside me and pulled the blankets up around our shoulders until we were snuggled in together.
“Poison,” he whispered.
Jesus, that’s harsh. “When did this happen?”
Around the room, the small torches lit one by one as if Ravenswood itself were holding out a match to each one. “Let’s just say I never got to see a television or telephone or even a car as a living boy.”
My heart sped up with his admission. How were we supposed to be soul mates if we weren’t even born in the same lifetime?
“Your expression makes me reluctant to say any more to you.”
“What do you except me to say or do?” I sighed, sadly. This was all too much to take in. I knew it was all happening, yet I still couldn’t believe it fully.
A dark expression fell over his face. “I expected you to hate me. I wanted you to hate me. That’s why I was so mean and harsh with you.”
“But why?”
He hesitated before answering. “Because pushing you far away would be the safest for you.” His body tightened next to me, I could feel the stiffening and shift of coiled muscles and tendons. “With you far away, the only one getting hurt was me.”
I looked at him through the dim light and wondered how he could hurt over me, someone who never knew he existed until a few weeks ago. Selfishly, I wanted to hear him tell me—explain in words how he was hurt by not being with me—when my whole life I was the one who got hurt because I was never wanted by anyone I ever tried to love. “How? How could you get hurt?”
“I watched as you lived your life. I thought you forgot about me.” He shrugged his shoulder and chuckled a deep, ugly chuckle. “I got to watch your first kiss. The first time you—” He groaned miserably, unable to finish the sentence. “He didn’t even—” He closed his eyes.
“Didn’t even what?” What could he possibly say? How could he really know? Was he in the car with me the night I lost my virginity? I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
His eyes opened, slowly, solemnly. “He didn’t even ask your name,” he whispered.
He did know.
