Page 41 of The Bound Zodiac

Jupiter rolled her eyes, extending a hand up as Noodle slithered down the tree trunk and onto her arm.

The pixie stuck around long enough to demolish the rest of the bag, and by the time we headed back, the fog had thickened so much I could barely see my own boots. Jamie kept pace with us, Gretchen flying overhead in lazy circles, Noodle draped across Jupiter’s shoulders. The common room was dark when we pushed through the door, the fire banked low, the rest of the tower quiet. Jamie paused at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the banister, and glanced at Jupiter.

“Night,” he said. Gretchen landed on his shoulder and tucked her beak against his jaw. He climbed without another word, boots thudding on the old stone, and disappeared around the first landing.

Jupiter dropped onto the sofa with a groan, Noodle slithering off her shoulders and onto the armrest. She was still buzzing. I crossed to the kitchenette, filled the kettle, and set it on the hob. The familiar ritual calmed something in me. Tea. Something to do with my hands.

I poured the tea, added a splash of milk to hers the way I’d noticed she liked it, and carried both mugs over. She took hers without looking up, already scrolling through her phone, thumb flying. I sat beside her on the sofa, leaving a careful distance between us, and took a sip. The tea was too hot. I didn’t care.

“Look,” she said, turning the screen toward me. “Look at this little bastard. He was right there. Right on my hand.”

I leaned in. The photo was a smear of green and brown and a bright blue blur that might have been an eye or might have been a lens flare. I scrolled to the next one. Same thing. A blur of motion, a streak of iridescent wings, nothing recognizable.

“Jupiter…”

The next one was worse. Just a tree root and what looked like a marshmallow-shaped ghost. I couldn’t help it and I laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny, love.”

She growled and kept scrolling, faster now, frustration building. “There has to be one. There has to be one good one. I had the flash on and everything.”

“The pixie’s magic interferes with electronics.” I set my mug on the side table. “You’d have been better off with a sketchpad.”

She threw her head back against the cushions and groaned. “I’m going to have to go back tomorrow. I need proof.”

I laughed again, and she gave up on the photos, locked her phone, and set it on the armrest. For a while we just sat there, drinking our tea in the quiet, the fire ticking softly, the fog pressing against the windows.

She finished her tea first, set the mug on the coffee table, and stretched, arms over her head, back arching. The pajama top rode up, and I caught a flash of pale skin at her waist before I made myself look at the ceiling.

“Bed,” she said, standing. “Before I fall asleep right here.”

I stood too, gathering both mugs and carrying them to the sink. By the time I’d rinsed them, she was already at the foot of the stairs, Noodle heading up already by himself. She looked back at me over her shoulder, hair falling in a dark curtain, and smiled.

“Thanks for coming out. Even though you’re a buzzkill.”

“Any time, love.”

She started up the stairs, and I followed. The steps were narrow and worn smooth in the middle, and the old stone walls pressed close on either side. The tower was quiet except for the creak of the stairs under our weight and the distant sound of someone, Phoenix, probably, snoring through the floor.

Jupiter climbed slowly, one hand on the rail, and I climbed behind her, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo, close enough to see the way her pajama pants clung to the curve of her⁠—

I stopped that thought before it went anywhere useful.

We were passing my door when something in me snapped. I caught her wrist and pulled her back against the wall. The stone was cold through my hoodie. She made a small sound of surprise, and I covered it with my mouth.

I kissed her hard, my hand finding the wall beside her head, and the other sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me. She made a noise into my mouth. Not a protest, but something that went straight through me to my throbbing cock.

I kissed her again, deeper, tongue sliding against hers, and she kissed me back like she’d been waiting for it too. Her body arched into mine, and I could feel every curve of her through the thin pajama fabric, the heat of her stomach against mine, the press of her breasts against my chest.

I pulled back just enough to breathe. Her lips were swollen, her eyes half-lidded and dark, and the sight of her like that nearly undid me.

“Walls,” I said roughly. “Put your walls up. Now.”

She blinked, and I watched her focus, watched the silver in her eyes brighten and then dim as she pulled the mental barriers into place. I felt the bond go muffled, felt the distant hum of the other eight fade to a whisper behind reinforced glass. Good. Whatever happened next was ours.

I kissed her again, slower this time, and she opened for me without hesitation, her tongue meeting mine, her body melting against me. My hand slid from her waist to her hip, fingers digging in, and I lifted her. She wrapped her legs around me on instinct, ankles locking at my back, and I pressed her harder against the wall.