Poe clicked his beak, a strange little sound that was either amusement or refusal. I could not tell. Then he ruffled his feathers and settled more comfortably, as though my bedside were exactly where he intended to be.
“My Lenore,” he lamented again, the words drawn out like a sigh.
I smiled in spite of myself, exhaustion softening my resistance. “Alright then,” I breathed. “I’m your Lenore.”
The bird gave a low, satisfied croak, closing his eyes. His head tucked beneath one wing as if lulled by the rhythm of my voice.
I lay back against the pillows, my hand still resting on Poe. Outside, the first pale light of dawn had not yettouched the horizon. The manor was quiet, suspended in that strange hour between dream and waking.
But as sleep crept close once more, a quiver of unease stirred in my chest.
If it had only been a dream, why did my skin still burn where he had touched me?
Why did the sheets still smell faintly of him?
Poe stirred, half-sleeping, and murmured something soft and sorrowful.
I turned away from the questions, closing my eyes. In visions of the dark night, I dreamed of joy departed.
And the house, as if appeased, fell silent.
Chapter 11
The curtains were drawn tight, sealing the world in a dim, diluted shimmer. Moonlight still clung to the sky, a wan, watery glow refusing to surrender to dawn. I turned slowly, my hand sliding across the linen to the place beside me where warmth should have been.
No imprint.
No scent.
Only the faintest heat, so faint it might have been nothing more than my own wanting reflected back at me.
My gaze drifted to Poe. He remained perched at the bedside table, head tucked into his chest, feathers trembling with each tiny breath.
A dream, I told myself. A terrible, beautiful, impossible dream.
Sylum had not come at all.
I pushed upright slowly, heart beating in some strange, off-kilter rhythm. My head still swam, not from sleep, but something deeper. A lingering fog behind my eyes that I couldn’t shake.
My fingers drifted to my lips.
They felt tender beneath my fingertips. Bruised. Swollen. Kissed thoroughly.
I closed my eyes.
The memory of the dream came back slowly, like mist curling back toward the sea. A hand stroking my cheek. A voice whispering my name as though it had always belonged to him, shadows pressing close as breath mingled with mine.
And the kiss…
Had that happened?
It couldn’t have. And yet… my skin ached where he’d touched me, every nerve tingling with remembered fire. I drew my knees to my chest, curling beneath the blankets as if I could press the confusion out of me. Logic told me one thing. My body said otherwise.
And between them sat the truth, mute and elusive.
I’d seen him. I’d felt him. I’d heard his voice, smooth as riverstone, winding through my thoughts. His mouth had found mine until I was weightless, until I forgot everything but the aching pull between us.
But now he was gone.
