Magnus’s brows creased. “I’m not trying to bully you.”

“Then move,” I said, scooting forward, despite his effort to barricade me. Usually I could intimidate him, but he stood firm, and my face came that much closer to his. “Or should I hit you harder?”

“I welcome it,” he said, his voice dark. “Your palm was the most human contact I’ve had all year.”

His words made me freeze, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. To want someone to touch you in any way possible … even if it hurt you. It was a twisted, sad way to think.

But then … I hadn’t been raised with touch. I’d been raised to avoid it whenever possible. So I had to empathize; imagine being raised with that luxury and then having it stolen away.

I couldn’t be upset with him. He was tactless and rude, but he was a product of his condition, as well. He was unchecked, but also unnurtured. His poor behavior wasn’t all his fault … and my poor behavior wasn’t helping.

Gently, I laid my hand against his still-red cheek and kissed him.

It was the far extreme, and maybe it was as wrong as hitting him. I didn’t care. His soft lips pressed hard against mine at first, as if he’d lost his footing, but then I heard the crumple of stuffed leather as he adjusted his grip on the back of the chair. Even when his lips lifted away from mine, they never quite left me, his uncertainty as adorable as it was unbearable. He pressed closer and the warmth of his body sent my heart racing—

And then he jerked back, stumbling toward the fire. He caught himself on the mantel just as I reached to catch him. But I stopped just short of touching him, instead hugging my own arms, holding myself steady.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. Angrily. Painfully.

My heart hummed like a mouse’s in my ear, but I managed to look him in the eye. His expression was more conflicted than his tone suggested. How could I tell him why? What answer could I possibly give that would make sense to either of us?

Thankfully, he didn’t wait for me to figure it out. “I don’t deserve to be kissed.”

“Why not?”

“I am … a monster, Andromeda.” The heat of his face near mine froze me still. I suddenly realized I wasn’t looking in his eyes anymore. I was looking at his smooth skin, warm and umber in the fire and dim, the curve of his neck calling to my fingers to run the length of it. “But, then again, if affection is your contribution to my humanity, then by all means…”

His whisper was like molten silver, beautiful and dangerous at once.