I set the comb aside and press my hand to Ma’s neck as I guide her back into her nest of pillows and blankets. She doesn’t move; only the rise and fall of her chest indicates that she is alive at all.
I press a kiss to her cheek. Her skin is papery, as if it will tear at the slightest touch.
Then I rise and turn to my guest.
Yù’chén hasn’t shifted his gaze. Something tightens in my chest at the way he looks at me: his face is drawn and tired, but his eyes are as dark as obsidian. He sits in a straight, nearly meditative pose, hands on his knees. I don’t miss the red glow to his irises as he draws on his demonic magic to heal himself.
I look away as I rinse out the dirty towel and bring in a bucket of fresh spring water.
“Forgive my manners,” I say. “You must be tired from helping my sister. Let me make you a cup of tea.”
“I’m fine.”
“I insist,” I reply firmly and set the kettle to boil. I busy myself with scooping out the dried dandelion leaves we always keep in excess. They were once beloved tea leaves, but now they grow in clumps of weeds all around our village. Not much use for tea when you can barely fill your belly.
I look around for a decent mug, and I realize Yù’chén is stillholding on to the little clay cup I made. His thumb traces circles over the childish engravings of dragons and ocean waves I carved a lifetime ago. For some reason, my neck warms at the way he’s looking at it, a faint smile playing about his lips.
I clear my throat and extend a hand. “Pass me the cup.”
Yù’chén stands, the scrape of his chair loud in the silence. He approaches, but instead of giving me the cup, he takes my hand and pulls me up. He takes the towel I’ve set to dry by my cracked old kitchen cabinet. Without a word, he lowers it to my cheek.
I close my eyes and suppress a shudder as he traces it across my skin, one cheek at a time, down to my chin and then the dip of my bottom lip. I think of that day after I fought Áo’yin, of how gentle Yù’chén’s hands were as he placed his cloak over my shoulders. I also remember how ruthless those same hands were as he fought Yán’lù. How those hands have the power to tear my heart from my chest.
But I don’t move as his fingers dab at my throat, the curves of my neck leading to my collarbone and my chest.
I open my eyes. The moonlight limns his lashes and his hair, cuts his face into shadows and light. It brings out the red hue of his irises, like blood pooled in ink. It illuminates his darkened veins, coursing with his ichor and zigzagging through his skin. It’s a sight I might flinch at, only now I focus on the familiar lines of his face. He looks exhausted, and it is as though any semblance of pretense has gone. The expression on his face, the way he looks at me, threatens to crack the shield over my own heart.
I shrink back slightly. “You look tired from the death energy you took from my sister.”
“Mm.” His voice is a low rumble.
“Take some of my life energy,” I say. He pauses and cuts me a look, his hand with the towel on the back of my neck. The way he stares at me makes me add, “I don’t want to owe you.”
Yù’chén is silent for several heartbeats. Then, slowly, he presses a hand to my cheek and lifts my face. He searches my eyes. “I don’t want your life energy,” he says before he lowers his face to mine. Pauses, just before our lips touch. For some reason, I remember his words about my house.Real,he called it.It’s…real.
I lean forward.
Yù’chén’s gaze flickers up, to the open door behind us. He stiffens. “Àn’ying—”
That’s when my mother starts screaming.
23
A woman stands at our doorway, peering in. She wears a dirty purple robe that looks as if it were made for a child. In the darkness, her stance is predatory, shoulders hitched and arms spread, with that unnatural stillness not seen in mortals. Shadows wreathe her face, yet as she steps forward, a sliver of moonlight catches her ethereal beauty. Lips too full; eyes too large; hair that spills like ink onto a firm, willowy body. There is a detached curiosity to her face, one that instantly gives her away—if the other signs hadn’t.
Mó.
She’s absolutely still but for her head, moving as she takes in the room. Her tongue snakes out, and she licks her lips when she spots me. “Delicious,” she murmurs, and her voice shifts to song:“Come to me!”
I grit my teeth as my feet move of their own accord, responding to the magic in her command. I reach for my crescent blades, and Yù’chén steps in front of me. He doesn’t usehis power to command me to stop, only advances with me, step by step, as I raise my weapons.
“Leave.” His voice is a low snarl.
The mó pauses, her gaze pulling to him. She sniffs the air. “Mortal…andmó,” she rasps, cocking her head. “I’ve never met one like you.” Her eyes flash. “Which side do you take after, hmm? Do you desire the mortal girl, you poor thing? Do you want her—body, heart, and soul?”
Yù’chén’s jaw tenses.
“Come. You can share, lovely.”
