Page 60 of Laced in Longing

It’s impossible to not suck in a lungful of his scent. I press the collar to my nose, inhaling the notes of sage before I catch myself. Christ, I’m turning into one of those women who sniff their lover’s clothing like lovesick teenagers.

Lover. A laugh bubbles up in my throat. Is that what Ash is now? My lover? The question sends a flutter of panic through my stomach that I shove aside. Later. I’ll figure it out later.

The noise grows more insistent, coming not just from the hallway but from outside my window as well. I pad across the room, wincing as my muscles protest. Between my legs, the evidence of last night’s activities throbs—a pleasant soreness with a lingering wetness that makes heat rise to my cheeks. Even though it hurts so good, I’ll still complain about it.

I approach the door first, standing on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. What I see makes my stomach drop. The hallway is packed with people—neighbors I’ve barely exchanged nods with, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, talking animatedly. Some appear agitated, gesturing wildly as they speak. Others seem dazed, their eyes unfocused, their bodies swaying slightly as if caught in a current.

What the actual fuck?

I stumble away from the door, heart hammering against my ribs. This isn’t normal.

Something is very wrong.

The window beckons next. Jostling aside the curtain, my organs sink even further. The same scene plays out there: a crowd gathered in front of my building, people pressed together with little space between as they talk and argue, some just staring up at my window as if drawn by an invisible force.

My throat constricts, bile rising in my throat. Not even the sour taste is enough to pause my worry. Are they here for me? Do they know a god sleeps in my bed, that I’ve given myself to him? Have I altered the balance between worlds with my selfish desire to feel something other than emptiness?

“Maven?”

I whirl to said god, the curtain falling back into place. Ash stands fully dressed, sans under shirt. I feel his smile from my fingertips—a warmth that radiates from him even through the distance between us.

But the smile fades as he takes in my expression, the tension in my shoulders, the fear that must be written across my features.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, grasping my arms after three short strides.

I gesture to the window, words failing me. He peers over my shoulder just before his body goes rigid, the air around him cooling by several degrees.

“Is this because you’re here?” I ask, my voice higher than normal, tight as my throat feels. I’m so stupid…these crowds aren’t here because of me. “All these people—is it because of you?”

He doesn’t answer, his attention fixed on the scene below. The silence stretches between us, heavy with implications I don’t want to face.

“This is why you were scared when you pulled me from the roof,” I press, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. “Because you knew this would happen if you manifested physically in my world.”

He faces me now, his posture conveying a regret his hidden face cannot. “No,” he says, the single word heavy. “I didn’t know what would happen, but I suspected something would.”

“But you knew it was happening after that.” It’s not a question as something else dawns on me, a memory from days ago surfacing. “From that time in my office, right? That’s when you first realized? I thought the others were acting strange…”

He nods, a slow dip of his head that confirms my suspicions. “Yes. I realized then that mortals are drawn to me in my physical form. They sense what I am, on some primal level. They’re drawn to the possibility that I could ease their longing, feed on it, and leave them temporarily satisfied.”

My skin crawls. I don’t know how to feel, but I’m angry. Am I even allowed to be angry about this? It’s not my problem—well, it sort of is. Clearly, it’s my fault.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? That your presence here was causing…whatever this is?” I gesture wildly toward the window. The longer I stand here, the harder it is to breathe.

“I didn’t want to burden you with it,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that vibrates through my bones. “You’ve carried enough weight in this lifetime. I thought I could manage it by limiting my time here, which in theory would minimize the impact.”

“Clearly that’s working out great,” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could physically hold back the tide of emotions threatening to drown me. “There are dozens of people out there, Ash. My neighbors. Random strangers. What happens if they decide standing there isn’t enough and break down my door or—I don’t know, but what happens if they do anything else?”

A hand makes to grab me, claiming nothing as I back away. His arm drops to his side, the rejection hurting us both.

“What else haven’t you told me?” I demand, anger rising to replace the fear. Anger is easier. I can handle anger. “What other consequences are there to you being here? Are there any for what we did last night?”

“Maven—”

“No.” I cut him off. My voice is sharper than intended, though I don’t soften it as I continue. “I want the truth. All of it. What happens when a god from the Otherworld manifests physically here? Or when he fucks a human?”

My crude language causes him to flinch. I don’t care. I need answers, not more half-truths and omissions meant to protect me. If I’m being honest, the only thing I need protection from is my own thoughts.

After a long moment he speaks, each word measured, “I surmise the natural order is disrupted, which has caused mortals become more sensitive to…influences they shouldn’t be able to perceive.” He gestures toward the window, where the crowd grows. “They do not know why they’re drawn here. They only know they feel something—a pull, perhaps. Or a promise of relief from whatever aches inside them.”