Page 113 of She Walks with Broken Things

My hand tightened around the glass.

Another step.

Closer now.

Slow.

Careful.

Not running.

She was coming to me.

Christ.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The storm kept raging against the windows, but the rest of the house went silent beneath the sound of her footsteps. Three more. Then… nothing. Was she second-guessing this? Was she afraid of what she craved more than the damn storm?

Another two more.

She stopped outside the door.

I could almost hear her breathing.

Soft.

Uneven.

Afraid.

No.

Not afraid.

Wanting.

My body twitched hard. The difference nearly ruined me. I lowered my glass carefully to the small table next to me. I didn’t speak as the door opened. Didn’t make a damn move.

The soft drag of her foot.

The whisper of fabric.

Delicate.

Sheer.

Fragile.

A soft graze of her fingers at my cheek.

I closed my eyes at the touch.

“Nyssa…”

“Shh…” She whispered. “Don’t speak. Don’t…”