Page 93 of Sinister

To my continued surprise, Sin takes my hand in his, a casual movement that implies an intimacy between the two of us, alone as we are in this underground chamber of horrors.

I struggle to keep my breath steady at the unexpected contact, but I don’t pull away.

There’s something undeniably magnetic about him, something that draws me in despite everything.

“Petra,” he begins softly, his thumb drawing gentle circles on the tender skin at my wrist, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night.”

“Then why didn’t you text me afterward?” I blurt out the one question that has been burning at the tip of my tongue for months now.

He winces, as if I had again asked a question he was hoping I wouldn’t voice.

“Because I felt guilty. We were both drunk when we . . . and afterward, I thought you needed some space. But in all honesty, Petra, you’ve been on my mind. All. The. Time.”

How vulnerable he looks, how forlorn! His honesty stirs something within me, thawing out some of the ice that’s settled around my heart over the past months.

“I’m . . . I don’t know what to say,” I admit in a hoarse whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything, Petra,” Sin replies, his fingers now stroking my palm. “I just wanted you to know how I feel. I really care about you.”

Silence stretches between us, and I take deep breaths, the woodsy notes of Sin’s perfume helping release the stress held up in my body for Lord knows how long.

Despite all the wrenching discoveries we made today, I find myself leaning into him. As my head reaches his shoulder, his arm automatically drapes over my upper back and draws me closer to him.

We sit like this for some time, and I sink deeper into the sense of security that settles over me like a silken shawl. It’s Sin who breaks the silence.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you. The fall ball is coming up . . . and I’d like to take you. Would you go with me?”

His fingers twirl the curly ends of my hair, and it’s an endlessly cozy feeling. But his words put me on alert, and I hesitate at the thought of attending the fall ball. For one thing, it will be riotously crowded and unbearably noisy.

“I don’t know, Sin. Honestly, I’m not really into those kinds of events. Especially not now . . . with everything that’s been happening.”

“I get it,” Sin replies in an even softer voice as he squeezes my hand. “But maybe the dance could be a chance to feel normal for a night? Maybe it will help you forget about all this, just for a few hours?”

For a while, I’m quite torn.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply eventually. “But right now, I need to focus on the project and just keeping my wits about me, you know?”

“Of course I do, Petra. Know that the offer stands.”

His hand has been gently massaging my arm and shoulders this whole time. And as the silence between us ripens and deepens, I feel a fluttering in my belly—one wholly unconnected to the you-know-who floating inside its amniotic dream.

The way Sin sighs into my hair, the way his fingers glide over my limbs like butterflies . . . all of it leaves me bewitched, hazy with desire.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this together,” Sin whispers into my ear, softly tucking a silken strand of hair behind my ear. “I like the feel of you in my arms, Petra. It feels so right.”

His fingers have moved to caress the smooth planes of my cheek. I close my eyes and let the feel of his skin over mine lull me further into his embrace.

“It does feel good,” I reply just as gently.

Now his finger is lightly tracing the outline of my lips, and his mouth plants small kisses on my forehead. I sigh as he turns me toward him, so gently that it might be a trick of the wind. Now he’s cupping my chin and tilting my head up. His lips inch closer to mine.

Suddenly, a loud clatter echoes through the crypt, a sharp, metallic sound that bounces off the stone walls. My eyes snap open, and Sin’s head whips around.

“The fuck was that?” I gasp in fear.

Sin grips my hand tighter. “I don’t know. Stay close.” His voice is calm but edged with caution.

In a few seconds, we have sprung to our feet, forgetting the blanket and snacks in our rush toward the exit. The cozy intimacy of the previous moments vanishes, and the crypt feels like a trap closing in on us.