Page 487 of Coal Hearts

“You know...like the chicken.”

I pictured him with feathers, scratching around in the dirt.

Oh God.

New laughter built. Pressure bubbled in my belly, desperate to release.

“My name is Henri,” he said slowly, scarily.

“Hen.” I nodded.

“No. Not Hen—”

“Cluck. Cluck.” I couldn’t contain the mirth much longer. “Aww, don’t be mad. You’d make such a cute chicken. Wait...” I split into laughter. “A male chicken is a cock.” I lost control over my giggles. “You’re a cock.”

He made a whimpering sort of noise as if I’d well and truly ruined him.

“Cock-a-doodle-doooooo!” I lost it.

He groaned so deep and low, my entire body reacted.

Need roared.

Desire poured.

My laughter threaded with reckless, ruthless lust, and I shattered.

I either needed him to kiss me or go far, far away so I could break.

I didn’t know why I laughed anymore.

Everything was ridiculous.

Everything was hilarious.

If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry, and I really didn’t want to cry.

But oops, there went the tears.

People had died today.

Blood had been shed.

Pain had been given.

Peter might not wake up.

Rachel is pregnant.

And I’m in love with a broken beast.

I laughed.

And laughed.

I laughed until I cried.

I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe.