I draw another hesitant step closer. Beneath the salt and mist and his own heady scent, I taste the sharp note of iron. In this slant of moonlight, with the ocean spray misting his skin, the crystallized blood glints along his jaw and throat as though he’s been anointed by the violence of the stars themselves.
Beautiful, and devastating.
Whatever happened tonight, however he got himself here in this state—this isn’t the calculated Reaper standing before me now. This is something untamed, primal. Merciless.
The hunter.
I’m terrified. But not of the blood, or even of him. It’s the vacantness of his eyes, the empty dissociation shadowing their depths.
The fear that he’s lost.
The tide rushes in, and with it all my fear, flooding every hollow crevice of this rocky basin and fissure within me.
I can’t lose Orion?—
Ineedhim.
The frigid water soaking my skirt hem, I rise onto my toes, trying to make eye contact. “Orion… Orion, come back to me.” My voice breaks. “I need you to come back to me.”
Desperation lifts my hand toward his face, trembling fingers hovering close. When he doesn’t react, I curl my fingers into my palm, nails biting until it hurts. “Dammit.”
Blood flecks his cheekbones. There’s a thin smear at the corner of his mouth. For Orion, this level of contamination would do more than simply trigger him; it would send him into a full-blown spiral.
His scenes are contained. They’re ritualistic artistry. Never this chaotic, displaying this level of dysregulation, this absolute loss of control. So utterly…broken.
As foamy water rushes around my ankles, I follow the path of carnage to his hand. Stained with dried blood, he clenches the brass astrolabe, his grip fierce.
The sight of it stirs the memory of another fraught moment as we stood before the ocean, drenched in fading light and breathless anticipation. When the space between our skin was charged with a silent dare, challenging Orion to defy his aversion and touch me in the only way he could.
Slowly, I lower my hand into the cold tide and scoop water into my palm. I grasp his sleeve, carefully guiding his hand not fisted around the instrument between us. A second of hesitation, then I let the water trickle onto his skin.
The salt water and blood run together across the back of his hand, the soft moonlight revealing the dark ink hidden beneath. I lift my gaze to his, watching him closely as I daringly hover the tips of my fingers just above.
Clear beads glide over his bloodstained skin, dissolving the crystalized blood like stars fading from the night.
Breath held, I try not to move, recreating the moment he touched me through the same conductive friction of saline and subtle pressure, forming an anchor. Connecting us.
For an eternal heartbeat, there’s no response. Then gradually, his pupils dilate, a low flame lit in the depths of his eyes. His gaze finds our hands. My retreating fingers. And then, me.
Recognition flickers, breaking through the vacant haze. The flame blazes, sparking a filament of warmth amid the cold darkness. His breath shudders out, a fractured sound. “Collins.”
A weight settles within my chest. The rough caress of his voice abrades more than the air between us, the familiar sound resonating past the callus around my heart, turning it porous.
“I’m here, Orion,” I say gently. “I’m right here.”
I lick the salt from my lips, and his gaze hones, following the path of my tongue and rousing a fire beneath my flesh no frigid wind or freezing water could extinguish.
“You are, starling,” he says, a trace of reverence bleeding into his rough tone of voice.
The cadence of the endearment moves in time with my pulse, strumming weak heartstrings, awakening dormant chords buried too deep.
A wave crashes against my legs, sending me off balance. I instinctively reach out and grasp Orion’s shirt, curling my fingers into the bloody fabric. I turn my hand over. Blood tinges my fingers. I rub the tips together, feeling the gritty texture, and an unsettling guilt thickens my throat.
“The tide’s getting higher,” I say, unable to mask the tremor rolling through me as the water clings heavy to the hem of my skirt. “We can’t stay here.”
My gaze darts anxiously toward the university before I look up at him, the blood streaked across his face, soaked into his clothes. Indecision battles inside me, knowing I can’t risk anyone seeing him like this.
“Come on,” I urge him, giving his thermal a tug. “You have to rinse off in the ocean.” Fighting my fear, I take a backward step, drawing him with me as the cold slices through my bones. “God, it’s freezing.”
