The woman grabbed the boy’s shirt and yanked him toward her. He stumbled, and then she grabbed his face and pulled him to her.
“Because. Jacob . . .”
The wind trailed over the gasp of his name. It fluttered on the plea of a shuddering breath as the woman pressed her soft lips to his. She threaded her fingers through his silky hair and pulled him as close as another person could be. She gasped and spread her mouth over his, tasting him, taking him, telling him a million things she hadn’t ever admitted to herself.
The taste of salt and yearning and fragile trust played over their mouths. She swept her lips over his and let the warmth of him seep into her. She traced her fingers over the soft stubble on his cheeks and the lines of his cheekbones.
His fingers fluttered to her cheeks and cupped her gently as his mouth explored hers. He made a soft noise, a thankful noise, and the woman opened her eyes and looked up into the cool green forest of his gaze.
He watched her as he rubbed his lips over hers. Her mouth curved into a smile, and he kissed the edges of it, tracing the upward angle.
“Lia,” he said, pressing another kiss against her mouth.
She tilted her chin and looked at him from under her eyelashes. It was her Bard, movie-star, paparazzi look. The smoldering goddess.
The wind chuffed and nudged her.
That look wouldn’t work on the boy.
He was a man, not an infatuated child.
“I always think that’s what you want, because . . .”
He watched her, his thumbs tracing a circle over the smooth skin of her cheeks. “Because . . .?”
She turned her face away, and he let her go. She stepped away, and he sighed. The wind circled them, searching for any traces of the thing. It was still out there, and the wind was wary and watchful.
The woman straightened her clothes. She patted her hair and tucked the loose strands behind her ears. Then, set to rights, as if the kiss had never happened, she walked down the open aisle.
The right side of the boy’s mouth lifted, and he shook his head. Then, with a nudge from the wind, he followed her.
They walked on, taking the open aisles, choosing the paths the boy pointed toward. It was a maze. He was a Ward. If anyone would find the way out, it was him.
Every now and then, there was a scraping, a tap, a moan.
The boy would pause, tilt his head, and wait, but the thing never ventured close.
The wind climbed up his pant leg, grappled with his shirt, and then curled up on his shoulder. It was tired of treading over the dusty floor.
“That first time we met,” the woman said, and the boy startled, looking at her in surprise. It had been so long since either had spoken that the wind was surprised too. The woman didn’t notice. She stared straight ahead and then back to her mirror. “When I conjured a toad in your fruit juice?—”
“Punch.”
The woman smiled. “Punch. I liked you too. I didn’t tell you that. I knew . . . I thought . . . someday, one of us might have to kill the other. But . . . do you know dolphins?”
The boy looked over at the woman and lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. I know of dolphins.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What I mean to say is . . . there are dolphins in the ocean. They’re free. They’re where they’re meant to be. Then there are dolphins born in captivity. They’ve never seen the ocean. They’ll never see the ocean. They’ll die in their watery cage never having been free. But even dolphins in captivity . . . they know the sea. It’s in their heart. It’s in their soul. They feel it. They dream of it. They yearn for the sea. It’s stupid, because they’ll never reach it. They’re in a cage. It’s an impossibility. An impossible dream. But still. They’re dolphins, so they dream of the sea, even knowing they’ll never have it. You, Jacob.” She glanced over at him and then back to the dark. “You are my sea.”
The boy stopped walking. Two steps later, the woman paused. She stood still, her shoulders slumping. Then, slowly, she turned back to him.
The slow, steady thump of his pulse filled the space between them. The air filled with a hot summer breeze. It was a wind that spoke of long summer days, sheets flapping in the wind, and kisses under the August sun.
When the citrus and pearl dust scented woman turned, the boy let out his held breath.
He opened his palm and held it out to her.
She stared at his outstretched hand. “What?”
