Ember’s words resonated with Nyte far more deeply than he would’ve expected. Yes, a man getting her name wrong was insignificant compared to what Nyte had suffered, but the core of it was the same. The hurt, though far smaller, was the same. The disappointment and pain of thinking there had been a more meaningful connection only to find out that it had all been superficial, that there’d been ulterior motives…
“Yes, it is a…shitty feeling.” Nyte paused for a moment. “What does it mean to get laid?”
She withdrew a tool from a drawer and began skinning the carrot. “To have sex.”
“Ah.” Everything always came back to that, didn’t it? No matter the people, no matter the realm.
“That date was last night, before I made my wish,” Ember said without looking at him. There was a crease between her dark brows, one that spoke of…pain. “I wished for love. The fated kind of love that only exists in stories.”
She wrinkled her nose, keeping her gaze focused on her task. “I guess Starling overheard me and, well… That’s what got us into this mess. A stupid, hopeful wish on a shooting star.”
Nyte frowned as he watched her. He didn’t want to feel this mortal’s sadness, didn’t want to empathize with her pain, but how could he stop himself from doing so?
“It wasn’t stupid,” he said softly.
Ember paused and looked up at him. There was vulnerability within the blue depths of her eyes as they searched his, a loneliness that echoed in the hollow cavern of Nyte’s chest. In that moment, he felt something between them, something solid and powerful, something real. Something beyond the spell tethering them together.
She dropped her gaze, breaking that connection as she resumed peeling the carrot. “Maybe not.”
Despite his desire to continue staring into her lovely, entrancing eyes, these feelings were…raw, uncomfortable, and unsettling. His arms itched with the want to wrap around her in a tight embrace, to draw her against his chest and soothe her.
But that physical contact would’ve been too much. The temptation would’ve broken him.
He tore his gaze away from her and forced his legs into motion, exiting the kitchen and leaving her to her work. It didn’t help that her scent was everywhere, but at least he wasn’t looking at her now, and examining her home would preventhim from recalling her naked form as he’d spied it in the mirror this morning…
Nyte clenched his fists against the craving to touch her, to explore her soft, curvy body, to feel it against his own.
His tail flicked excitedly behind him.
Gritting his teeth, he caught the blasted thing, tempted to rip the appendage off. It would be much easier to simply will it out of existence, but that wouldn’t have quite the visceral impact he needed to distract himself.
He heard the water come on in the kitchen as he entered the drawing room. Only after having been outside and seen some of the city could he recognize the age on display here. Ember’s home didn’t seem to fit with the other modernities he’d witnessed today. Where they weren’t covered by the large, patterned rug, the floorboards were slightly warped and bore a warm patina, suggesting many generations of humans had walked upon them. The green wallpaper, with its gold leaf patterns, was faded, peeling at the seams in some places and bubbling in others.
As Ember’s knife clacked against the board with a steady rhythm, Nyte moved to the green settee positioned near the middle of the room. It was thicker and plusher than those he’d seen before, with far more cushion and no visible wood. He brushed his fingers across the back of it. The fabric was textured but surprisingly soft.
The settee faced a stand upon which stood a wide black object that looked very much like Ember’s cellphone when it was dark, only manyfold larger. Another artifact for communication, mayhap?
He moved to the black box and tentatively tapped its glassy surface. The sound it made was very much not like glass—and nothing happened. There was no light, no images, no text. Simply blackness.
Lowering his brows, he tapped it again, a little harder this time. The whole thing wobbled.
Eyes widening, he grasped the edges of its narrow frame with both hands, looking toward the kitchen as he steadied the object.
Something sizzled on the other side of the doorway. Several seconds passed, and Ember didn’t appear.
Letting out a breath, Nyte carefully released the large device, backed away from it, and went to the fireplace. At least that was a familiar thing. Its header, trim, and pillars were decorated with flowing, elaborate carvings that looked to have been painted over a few times too many, robbing them of some of the depth they must once have had. The bricks backing the firebox were dark with untold years of soot. Above the mantel stood a large mirror with an intricately carved wood frame.
He studied his reflection against the backdrop of the drawing room. However old this house was, Nyte was far older…and he was a thing that did not belong in this world. He was out of place here.
Wasn’t he?
His gaze shifted to the reflected settee. Could he see himself sitting there with Ember, chatting? Could he see them there, wrapped in one another’s arms, with a fire crackling in the hearth?
Could he find fulfillment and belonging in the trappings of a mortal life?
The pile of boxes against one of the walls caught his attention, and he strode to them. Most had the wordsLIVING ROOMwritten on their sides in black ink.
Nyte lifted a flap on the top one and looked inside. It contained framed paintings, though their realism and clarity were far beyond anything he’d seen from any painter, likeactual moments of time had been plucked from reality and frozen on canvas. He picked up the top painting.
