He looks over at the waterfall and then down again. Steady breathing. “If things were different for both of us, Skylenna. If we had both lived normal lives,freelives…would that life—married, children, a family, a normal life be possible for us?” His voice is deep, dark, and midnight soft.
The image of his embrace forms once again in my mind. His lips pressing against my forehead. I shake my head.
Has he thought about us before? Does he think ofmelike this now?
“You saidus,” I say again. “You didn’t refer to this life with any person you would marry… you referred tome?” I gulp. He watches me.
“Yes.” He nods. “I did.” He doesn’t say anything else, only looks at me with those warm-brown eyes that could deceive any woman into believing he could have a warm heart.
“You think of me…” Only those words escape my lips. I exhale at the complete loss of thoughts.
His lips part, and he reaches out to touch me. Looks down to the right, listening to that voice. His hand retracts back. I begin to shiver. Possibly at the cold water, but mostly by his action.
“You’re cold. Let’s start a fire.”
My eyes light up as he guides me to shore. Lighting a fire, sitting under the stars—it has nostalgic energy flaring in my chest.
I finally, after a long, long time, feel like I’m home.
52. Violet and Scarlett
I manage to be impressed byhis quick ability to build a fire.
We sit against the walls of the cliff, looking out at the lagoon over the large fire he created. My dress releases slow drops of water down my legs, and I hold my hands out to the fire to stay warm.
Dessin sits down next to me and glances at my wet body. He pretends not to notice the dilemma we’re in with wet clothes—that we have to ride on a motorcycle back to the asylum. I wonder how he would react to me making a bold move. I wonder how he would react to my body without my dress on. I tell myself it is an experiment. He wouldn’t kiss me before. It’s as if there are written rules with the previous host in his mind. Is he stopping Dessin from pursuing me?
“I’m freezing,” I prompt. He gives me a sidelong glance and focuses back on the fire, poking it with a stick.
“Move closer to the fire. You’ll warm up.”
I watch him a moment longer, smiling on the inside. My hands begin to shake as I make the internal decision to do this. I rise next to him and peel off my uniform dress, pulling it up and over my head.
“Are you insane?!” Dessin is on his feet in front of me, gripping my dress above my head, attempting to pull it down. I remember the undergarments are ones that Aurick got me. White lace. I’m sure he stocked my dresser with these revealing items in hopes of seeing me in them one day.
“What’s your problem?” I gaze up at him as he holds me by my wrists over my head. A tingling heat warming my legs, my gut. “I’m cold, and this wet dress won’t get any dryer on me.”
“Skylenna—put it back on,” he says sternly. His eyes stay firmly on mine, refusing to let them wander.
“Or what?” I taunt. And that flirtatious smile is brought on smoothly as I bat my eyes slowly.Thank you again, Ruth.
I pull the rest of it off, my body fully exposed in only my white lace. I worry that it may not be appealing to a man. My breasts are decently sized, I’d say. Enough to swell above my brassiere, enough to catch Aurick staring at my chest, often.
His eyes fall over my bare body, and his gaze feels like hands wandering over my breasts, my waist, my thighs. A slow burn of thirst building behind his expression. But he catches himself, eyes retreating back to the dirt beneath his feet—and he’s listening. A voice inside his head.
“Look at me,” I say in a voice not much stronger than a whisper.
He glances up at me, making intense eye contact but nothing below the neck—and it’s manifested from thirst to hunger. A predatory way that he parts his lips as if to run his tongue over his teeth. And warmth fills my gut, tingles through my fingertips.
What is happening to me?
His chest moves up and down fast. Faster than when he fought the guards. Faster than when he snapped the man’s neck. And it’s the hitch of a gasp in my throat that snaps him out of the wild trance. He looks away and sits back down in front of the fire.
“Scarlett was depressed. But I was helping her find the will to live again.”I’m ready. I’m ready. I’m ready to tell him.
His eyes widen, and his back straightens up.
“Her downfall was always her anger. She hated our parents for what they did to us and couldn’t let it go. It would eat her alive. It would cause episodes of violence and self-harm. When Scarlett told me her fear of becoming a patient in the intricate section, I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t let her end up in there. I couldn’t let her rot away from not being capable of forgiveness.” It’s all coming back now, the screams, the rush of panic. “So, on the day that marked three years after our father had died, I decided it was time for her to visit his grave and forgive him.” I pause. The easy part to tell is the decision behind the tragedy. My hands begin to tremble.
