“And why do you want to do that?”
“Your father was a powerful man. A very powerful user of magic. I am worried he may have… planned for his death.”
“You’re not talking funeral arrangements and wills, are you?”
“No. I’m talking magic. You father may not want to stay dead. And I don’t want him hurting you.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes.”
And he was so not joking.
“So by ‘communicate’ with my dad, do you mean casting a Shield spell and then sucking him down a black hole like you did to the watercolor-the Veiled?”
“If I have to, yes.”
Great. My ex-maybe-still-current boyfriend was going to get into a magical battle with my dead-maybe- still-kicking dad.
“And that’s the only reason you want to stay? To protect me from my father? Because let me tell you, Jones, I can deal with my father.”
He blinked, and his gaze softened. “When he was alive, yes. But he’s dead now, Allie. And I’m worried about you. I know what it’s like to try to sleep with all the lights on because you’re too afraid to turn them off.”
“Calling me a sissy isn’t winning you any points.”
“I’m not looking for points. This isn’t a competition; this is real. This is life. And I know what it’s like to be afraid of the dark and all the things inside it.”
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” I said.
“You should be.”
Silence stretched out between us. He meant it. He believed it. And if Zayvion Jones said I should be afraid of something, I’d be stupid to not at least consider the validity of that.
“Just for the night,” I said.
He visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering and loosening. He had been really worried I’d say no.
“Thank you,” he said. He stood and so did I.
“I’ll get you a blanket for the couch.” I walked to my hall closet and found a spare blanket and a pillow. “I’m going to leave my bedroom door open, but it isn’t an invitation.” When I turned around, he was next to my couch, watching me.
“Here.” I walked over and handed him the blanket. “What? What’s that funny smile?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “This just seems familiar.” “Does it?”
He looked at me, looked for something I apparently didn’t have. Then he became very interested in slowly unfolding the blanket and spreading it across the couch. I’ve seen that kind of reaction before from people who knew a part of my life, who had experienced something with me that I’d forgotten.
“I’ve slept on a lot of couches in my day; that’s all,” he said.
“That’s not going to work for me,” I said.
“What?”
“Lying. If you’re in my house, I want honesty. Hells, I want it when you’re not in my house too.”
“Honesty,” he said, tasting the word. “When you and I went to Nola’s farm, she made me sleep on the couch. I could see the open door to the room you slept in. I could hear you breathing, moving, dreaming. And when you cried out, I came to you. So this”-he held his hand toward the couch and then my bedroom-“and this”-he pointed to me and then himself-“feels very familiar.”
I’d asked for honesty and I’d gotten it. I liked that.
“Oh,” I said. I handed him the pillow. He took it, his fingers brushing mine and pausing there.
Instead of letting him pull the pillow away from me, I held on to it and stepped toward him. Close. We didn’t have to say this was forever; we didn’t have to say this would last. We didn’t have to say anything to understand the moment. We leaned toward each other, drawn like metal to magnet.
And kissed.
His lips were soft and thick and tasted of salty pizza and sweet apples. I opened my mouth to him, wanting to taste more of him, wanting to say with my body what I could not say with my words. That he was right. I was afraid and alone. And I really wanted to be touched by him.
His tongue drew gently along the inside of my lip and electricity thrilled through me, settling like a solid heat deep in my stomach. The kiss was hot, sweet, needful.
And I wanted more.
I pulled back enough to catch my breath. “Please. Come to bed with me.”
Zayvion was breathing hard. His nostrils flared. I could feel the thrumming of his pulse through the pillow we both still gripped.
He closed his eyes. Licked his lips. “I can’t.”
“Can’t?” I asked. “Or won’t?” I suddenly wondered if he had another girlfriend or a vow of celibacy.
He opened his eyes and met my gaze. “The last time… out at Nola’s. You… we…” He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. When he looked back at me, he seemed a little calmer. “I promised myself if I ever had a chance to be with you again, I would wait. Wait until you said yes because you wanted me. Wanted this. Wanted us. For more than one night. For more than one reason. And right now it isn’t about us. It’s about uncertainty. It’s about death. That’s not enough for me. It shouldn’t be enough for you.”
I didn’t know if I should be frustrated, flattered, or furious.
So I was all three.
“A simple no would have been fine.”
“Nothing is ever simple with you, Allie. That’s what makes you so interesting.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I let go of the pillow. “So this is good night?”
“Yes,” he said, “it is. Sleep well.”
I doubted that was possible. I walked to my bedroom, turning out lights as I went. I listened as Zayvion stretched out on my couch. I crawled under my covers and waited to see if he snored. But I never had a chance. As soon as my cheek touched the pillow, I fell into a dark, and thankfully dreamless, sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Morning came too early and brought with it the fever I’d been hanging my magic use on. And the fever brought along its friends Body Aches and Bastard of a Headache.
Since I was already dealing with sticky, stinging skin and an ache somewhere deeper in my chest that I was pretty sure was my heart, I was just all sorts of joyful about waking up.
I rolled over and looked at my clock.
Six thirty. Hells. I was supposed to meet Violet in an hour and a half.
Double hells.
I sat up slowly, shielding my eyes from the light, and walked very, very carefully into my bathroom. I opened my medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of aspirin with hands that would not stop shaking. My hands shook so hard, I spilled pills into the sink. I caught three in my palm and then held my breath and focused on them so I could count and make sure it was only three pills. Overdosing would be too damn easy right now.
Three. I put them in my mouth, swallowed them down with water from the sink. All I needed was a little time. A little time and I’d be okay. I turned toward the shower and took a couple steps, holding on to the sink, the wall, the toilet. My teeth chattered. I felt burned, and burning, inside and out.
Fabulous. Today was going to be a big ol’ bucket of happy.
A warm hand touched my left shoulder, and a wash of mint made the jackhammers in my head take it down a notch. So help me, if it was my father standing there behind me, I was going to kill him, dead or not.
“You’re burning up,” Zayvion’s soft voice said.
“Disbursement,” I mumbled. “Should only last an hour or two.” Or all day. But right now I couldn’t stomach
