The Master and The Marionette (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 2)

While Kane checks the area for lingering guests, I brush my fingers over my lips.

I close my eyes.

I watch it over and over again.

How could we have waited this long? His lips.

It feels as though the tension and constant yearning for more of him should have been diffused with that kiss. Dissipated. Like a raindrop on a candlewick. Gone.

But I caress my hand over my cheek, my neck, my waist. I burn all over. An eternal fire thrumming through my veins, splashing over the infected areas where his touch branded me. I hold that memory, bind it to my chest, swallow it like a pill that will seep into my system and never leave. I tried to hide the feelings that seemed to climb out of my heart. I tried to disguise them as a concerned friend who just wanted to help. But they got down on their knees and pleaded with me to tell the truth. I have deep and intimate feelings for Kane. For Dessin.

The wind rises in speed, carrying fallen red leaves on an invisible string, twirling around my limbs in a whimsical dance. I’m still wet but can hardly feel any discomfort. I hold a whole new jar of questions now. Will he kiss me again? Are our feelings the same? Where do we go from here? Not just with the plan but with how we act toward one another.

At least now I finally know that every time he looked at me, there was something there for him too. More than the physical heat. The sexual energy. I just want to hear him say it. I need his words right now. I need them to validate it all for me.

Just once.

Over a crooked hill of red oak trees, Kane makes his way back to me. He keeps his head down, wringing out the bottom of his wet tunic.

A herd of electric fireflies jump-starts my nerves and I’m suddenly anxious beyond reason. But it’s just Kane. The man I’ve slept next to almost every night. The man that I trust with all of my secrets. That man.

“They’re gone,” he states, quick and curt. “Let’s get changed and get moving again.” Cold. No warmth. Only ice.

“Kane?” His name barely makes it out of my mouth. He doesn’t look at me. “Kane—”

“We have to get moving.”

I stiffen. What is this? A tsunami of passion just crashed into both of our bodies at once and he’s detaching himself from me? Could it be Kane?

I step forward and lift his chin with the knuckle of my right index finger. He looks at me. A soft, sweet look. It is Kane.

“I just need to say something before we go.” My voice is practically gone. I’ve never sounded so quiet in my life. “I think we need to talk about what just happened.”

He straightens up uncomfortably. Hickory dark eyes look down on me.

“What happened between us was a mistake.”

My breath catches in my throat. I blink once. Twice. Several times, as if it will erase the last three seconds.

“A mistake?”

He nods. “It was a moment of weakness. We are close friends. Sometimes mistakes like that happen.”

I want to shake my head. Please stop talking. Stop saying what you’re saying. Each syllable that escapes his plush lips chips away at my heart, cracking like frozen glass. How could it have meant nothing to him? His kiss was everything to me.

I try my hardest to compose my face. To hide my pain.

“So you—you didn’t feel anything then?” I stammer.

He remains impassive. “I don’t feel that way about you.”

I stare at him. I want to look away but can’t. Without even realizing it, I move my hands up to clutch my heart, attempting to push it back into my chest.

“Did you feel something?” he asks.

“No—I—of course not.” My voice cracks. It so pathetically cracks. “It was impulsive. A mistake. Wrong. I don’t feel—” But that’s all the words I have. I. Don’t. Feel.

“Well, I’m sorry for acting without thinking. I’ll let you get changed and we can get moving again.” He leaves me a dry set of clothes and disappears into the trees.

Grabbing a nearby tree, I hold myself up for only a few seconds before I slide down its side, begging these feelings to go away. I did this to myself. I cracked open that thirteenth room and let these emotions seep in like a poisonous fog.

My eyes unclog of all prideful restraint, and the tears spring freely from their nest.

I can barely breathe as his words bite into my flesh with newly sharpened teeth. The despair is all too familiar. It’s the moment you see your sister crumble into suicidal depression. It’s the feeling of your father’s boot on your back, kicking you down a basement. It’s a sea of men and women dressed like dolls, and then there’s you. Standing alone. Starved. Scared. Not belonging anywhere.

It’s kind of like that. Except, all at once.