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Back The Midnight Lie
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. EPILOGUE
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  58. Also by Marie Rutkoski
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  60. Newsletter Sign-up

She kissed me. Her mouth was hungry on mine, on my neck. Her hand fisted in my hair. I pushed off her jacket, found the jut of her ribs beneath her shirt, the sweep of her belly, the leather strap of her dagger belt. I tasted her mouth. My heart was thrumming in my throat, and I was greedy for her. I loved her gasp, her teeth on my lower lip, her thigh hard between mine. I tugged her by her belt toward me. I wanted the bed; I wanted her to press me down into it.

“Wait,” she murmured. “Too fast.”

I felt flushed all over. “You like it fast.”

“Not like this.” She pulled away. Her hair was wild, mouth swollen. She looked down at me, at her disheveled shirt. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

“Sid.” My voice was full of yearning.

She straightened her shirt and tucked it into her trousers. “You have a life here. One that you want to keep. One that doesn’t involve me.”

“It already involves you.”

“Not this way.”

“But why?” My voice cracked.

“You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“I will,” she said, and turned away, shutting the door softly behind her, leaving me alone, my breath quick and harsh with hurt in the rising light.

41

WHEN I WOKE, THE SUNLIGHT was a hot blade on the bed. The hour was late and the still air felt like wet fur. I had cast off the sheet in my sleep.

Faintly, from downstairs, came the scrapes and clinks of someone busy at a task. There was the burnt scent of that foul eastern drink Sid liked so much.

I turned my face into the pillow. The pillow didn’t smell like Sid anymore. It smelled like me, and I was glad, because it was painful enough to want her, painful enough to remember exactly the shape of her mouth beneath my tongue, without having the specific scent of her perfume and skin pressing against my face.

Would there have been any words that could have made her stay last night?

I could have said, I know it’s not forever.

I could have said, I still want this, even if it vanishes like sugar on my tongue.

But I didn’t, and maybe even if I had, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The second time I opened my eyes, the house had an empty silence. I was relieved.