I frowned. “Use ballet to my advantage? Against demons?”
Oliver chuckled. “If we live through this, I’ll show you.”
If we live through this. I tried to keep my fear at bay, but it clawed its way back to the surface of my mind. “I never thought my first night alone with a man would be in a place that only exists in my nightmares.”
Oliver shifted next to me. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed, but it sounded hollow. “First night alone with a man?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah.”
Oliver scratched his nose. “Well, that’s—that’s not what this is. Not at all.”
I snorted. “I know that! Don’t worry. I won’t spread heinous lies about your reputation or anything. I just think it’s funny.”
“No, you don’t,” Oliver said quietly.
“What?”
“You don’t think it’s funny. You’re just using it as a shield.”
“Stop doing that,” I said as irritation prickled through me.
“Doing what?”
“Diagnosing me.”
“All right, I will,” Oliver said, crossing his arms. “If you tell me why you do it. Why you make jokes when you’re afraid.”
I swallowed. “For the same reason I dance. It’s how I cope.”
“You never talk about it?” Oliver asked.
I remained silent. No. I never talk about it. Never. Because I’ll feel too much if I do.
When my parents died, I’d drowned in grief until Kismet advised I find an outlet. So I pursued dance, and it had become my crutch ever since. But no way was I diving into my orphan sob story. For once, my parents’ death wasn’t a central topic of discussion. Although we were surrounded by demons and danger, it was somewhat of a relief to not be pitied or judged for who my parents were and what I’d lost.
“No,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too dangerous for me. It’s safer to shield myself and carry on with my emotions locked up. Otherwise I might not carry on at all.”
Silence pressed in on us. The disturbing demon sounds grated against my ears again.
I closed my eyes and asked, “Tell me about your life. You’re half Cuban, right?”
“Yes. My mother was Alba’s cousin.”
My breath hitched. “Was?”
“She died a few years after I was born. I was sent to live with a distant relative in America named Lily Gerrick. I called her Aunt Lily. She wasn’t exactly my aunt, but it was the easiest way to refer to her.”
I opened my mouth to say I was sorry about his mother, but I remembered that was exactly what I hated when people heard my story. I clamped my mouth shut.
“I never knew my father,” Oliver went on. “All Aunt Lily told me was that he was American and that he wasn’t a good man.”
I dropped my gaze to my ripped and dirty skirt. He’s an orphan, too. But the way Elena and Alba and everyone treated him—I never would’ve guessed his life had been tainted by such sorrow. A lump lodged in my throat, and heat stung my eyes.
“I lost my parents, too,” I muttered. “Five years ago.”
I wasn’t planning on telling him that. The words just spilled from my mouth.
Oliver was silent. I imagined he was deliberating how to respond, just as I had. At long last, he said, “It’s just ratty, isn’t it.”
My brow furrowed, and I wrinkled my nose. “Ratty?”
“Unfair? Miserable? You don’t use that word in your time?”
I snorted. “No. We say, ‘That sucks.’”
“Oh.” He paused. “That sucks.” He said it slowly like he was testing the words on his tongue.
I dropped my head and laughed. Several of my tangled curls fell against my cheeks, but I was too tired to care.
Oliver’s eyes found mine. His eyes crinkled and his eyebrows lifted. Our gazes held with amusement but also with solidarity. Right now, we were one and the same. We didn’t pity each other. We didn’t ask questions. But we understood.
“You were incredible against that troll,” Oliver said in a deep throaty voice, his eyes still locked onto mine.
I couldn’t look away from him. His eyes held me there, freezing me in place. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look away, but some innate instinct within me wanted me to squirm or shift or wriggle free, away from his scrutiny.
But I didn’t.
“You were too,” I whispered.
Oliver leaned forward, and my breath caught in my throat. His fingers grasped a stray lock of my hair and gently pulled it taut. He let go, and it sprang back like a coil. His lips quirked up in a smoldering smile.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he murmured.
My face on fire, I forced a chuckle. I was going for casual but it sounded more like a hysterical gurgle. “It’s a mess. It’s way more humid here than in North Grove.”
Oliver tucked my loose curls behind my ear. My skin burned where he touched me. “Where’s that?”
“Wisconsin.” Why did my voice have to tremble?
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up, and he laughed. “Yes, that is quite different from the climate here.”
I nodded and leaned my head against the cave wall. I shifted my gaze to the rocky ceiling as exhaustion settled within me down to my bones. The heat from Oliver’s proximity still swarmed around me, but my fatigue was undeniable. Even my sweaty palms and racing heart couldn’t keep me lucid for very long.
“You can lean against me if you want,” Oliver said softly.
Butterflies raced through my stomach. I swallowed. “Thanks.”
Very slowly, I lowered my head until it rested on his shoulder. Even though he wore a different shirt, he still smelled like grass and gunpowder. The scent calmed me, lulling my eyes closed.
Chapter 12
I STARTLED AWAKE. DISORIENTED, I glanced around the cave. Being underground erased all sense of time, and it unsettled me.
I shifted against the ground. My legs were stiff, and my butt was asleep.
Then I noticed Oliver next to me, and I stilled. His deep breaths
