Page 154 of A Sweet Destruction

Elijah looked at me like I was crazy again. “Why are you so calm right now?”

I considered his question, hoping I’d find the mind to lie. I couldn’t. “I feel strangely comfortable around you.”

It was true, but, clearly, markedly, the wrong thing to say.

Elijah jerked back, all but plastering himself to the far wall of the van.

“Maybe comfortable wasn’t the right word,” I hedged. “I just don’t think I’m in all that much danger.”

Elijah dropped his head into his hands, groaning loudly. He said something, but I couldn’t hear it.

When I said so, he looked up at me under dark brows. “I said, how long have you known?”

“Known what?”

Elijah raised one eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. Known what?”

His scoff ricocheted through the entire van. “Please. You’ve seen right through me from the day we met—”

“I don’t know if we were ever properly introduced. I just kind of saw you around one day.”

“—and are clearly committed to your secrets or you certainly would not have put that skinny kid in the middle of this shit.”

I wasn’t following all that well, but if I pointed it out, I was worried he’d call me dumb again. “Arthur?” I asked. I didn’t mean anything by it, but muscle definition was kind of a prerequisite to being a soldier and he looked emaciated compared to everyone else.

“Whatever,” Elijah barked, like the very mention of his name had sparked his temper. “You still haven’t answered my question. How long have you known?”

“Known what?!”

Oh, well, apparently Elijah was close to some sort of breakdown. I’d seen people in the throes of a panic attack start pulling at their clothes, overstimulated by everything around them.

Elijah seemed to be taking the same path, breathing out a frustrated growl then ripping his shirt over his head.

Then, it became apparent that I was the one experiencing psychosis.

A string of garbled sounds fell from my lips. I only passively noticed the sculpted planes of his chest, dusted with hair.

Instead, I was counting the stars inked into his skin, praying they wouldn’t add up to fifty.

The larger one in the center was damning enough, the point slicing down to the exact point where his ribs began to flare outwards. That would have been enough to get a priestess excited.

Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, all in a line under his right collarbone. The skin under my own started to buzz.

Forty-eight, over his pectoral.

Forty-nine, a little to the left.

“Can you turn to the side, please?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

Without me needing to prompt him, Elijah turned and lifted his arm so I could see it.

Fifty. Tucked right where his arm would fall to the side.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. I really, really didn’t.

I blinked up, finding Elijah’s eyes on me already. When our gazes caught and held, I felt the star in the center of my chest open, unfurling with light.