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“How long?”
“Nearly three thousand years.”
She stares.
“You’ve been trapped that whole time?”
“Conscious. Immobile. Unable to feel anything.”
“Oh, Morpheus.”
I force a smile.
“Do not pity me, darling. I find it terribly unattractive.”
She ignores that.
Instead, she places her palm against my chest.
And the universe stops.
Warmth.
Actual warmth.
It spreads beneath her fingers, racing through my body with such force that I stagger.
Calla gasps.
“Morpheus?”
I catch her hand.
“Again.”
She raises an eyebrow.
I close my eyes.
“Please.”
Her fingers slide slowly over my chest.
My heart begins to beat.
Once.
Twice.
The marble floor trembles beneath us.
Calla looks down.
“Um. Is that supposed to happen?”
I barely hear her.
Because her other hand has risen to my cheek.
