Flint
We lie side by side in the long grass, watching each other.
Moonlight gleams silver in Sheen’s pale hair. Slowly I trace the shadows along his cheekbones, his jawline, the curve of his lips, biting back a gasp as he catches my finger lightly between his teeth. He angles his head a fraction, releasing me, violet eyes appraising.
It’s hard to believe there was ever a time I found his beauty vexing – when the mere sight of him didn’t jolt through me like a lightning bolt to the chest.
My next thought vanishes before it has the chance to form as Sheen lets his hand trail lazily across my ribs, over my waist and down my thigh, tightening his grip on my leg before hitching it up and round his hip in one smooth movement. He rolls on to his back, pulling me on top of him. His body is solid beneath me. It’s a bit like sitting astride a marble statue, but I’m not complaining. I run my palms across the hardened contours of his chest, breathe inthe scent of fresh snow and cold, cloudless nights, then give in to temptation. His mouth is just as soft as I remember, sliding slick and hot against mine.
I sit bolt upright, the dream disintegrating. Blood pounds in my ears, keeping time with the thudding of my heart. There’s a chill in the air, but my skin feels flushed, as though I’m running a temperature. I swallow hard, swivelling my head round cautiously.
Sheen is asleep several yards away at the edge of the wind shield, his breathing rhythmic, one arm resting behind his head. I feel my stomach lurch as I look at him – a dizzying swoop followed by a gentle fluttering sensation.
Are those …butterflies?
I shudder, horrified. What iswrongwith me?
Scrubbing a hand over the peppering of stubble on my jaw, I glance down to where Spinner is sleeping soundly, her body angled towards mine. Seized by a jarring pang of guilt, I get to my feet and head for the Creek. Perhaps a morning swim will help to drown the swarm of accursed butterflies. Or at the very least it’ll help to cool me down.
The meadow is as pretty as a painting, carpeted by blades of grass as tall and thick as barley. I strip down to my undershorts and dive into the water, slipping my eyepatch over my head and letting the bracing cold leach the heat from my burns. Then I tip backwards and float, staring up at the brightening sky.
Since making it out of the Greenwood, Sheen has barely said one word to me. He’s reserved, distant. At this rate I’d take his scorn over his silence. I’ve never craved someone’s attention so much in all my life. Last night I even offeredto refill his waterskin, just so that our fingers might brush when I handed it over.
I scoff. This is stupid. Pathetic. Yet I can’t seem to stop thinking about him, and not just inthatway, but the way he held me as the world felt like it was closing in.
I used to think that being intimate with someone meant letting them put their hands on me. But this was something else entirely, raw and vulnerable. And that’s not to say that I don’t want his hands on me – I do. Much to my surprise and more than I care to admit.
I’m startled by a sudden tinkling laugh, followed by a splash. I quickly pull my eyepatch back on before Spinner resurfaces, smiling as she winds her arms round my neck.
‘Found you,’ she says, then presses her lips to mine.
Kissing Spinner is very different from kissing Sheen. I tried not to compare the two, I really did, but it was impossible to keep my mind from wandering. With Spinner, it’s sweet. Light and playful and easy. There’s desire there, though not the kind that seems to twist my insides out of shape. I find her attractive. Endearing. She makes me happy. But Sheen …
‘Flint?’
I blink. ‘Sorry. Still half-asleep.’
‘Sheen sent me to fetch you.’
At the sound of his name, the butterflies perform a series of loop-the-loops. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to squash them flat. ‘And why am I being summoned?’
‘He thinks we should set off. Best not keep him waiting. You know what he’s like.’
Another lurch. ‘Uptight, bad-tempered and miserable, you mean?’
She punches me on the arm. ‘Be nice.’
‘Why do you put up with him, anyway?’ I ask, more out of curiosity than anything. ‘I’ve never understood your friendship. I mean, he barely speaks to you.’
She rubs absent-mindedly at the layer of panstick covering her tattoos, smearing it across her cheek. ‘He wasn’t always this way.’
My heart gives a disjointed thud. ‘What d’you mean?’
Spinner bites her lip, her expression regretful. ‘It’s not mine to share.’
‘Oh, come on. Out with it.’
‘Flint –’
