Laughter is a cocktail swirling in the back of my throat. It pops and squeaks, its dripping downpour fizzing in my stomach, splashing my lungs until I'm breathless. Its drag on me is nearly as powerful as Edita's locked hold on my wrist, though far more jerky, tripping up every other step. Shadows dance and swirl through its haze.
Coming to a momentary halt, Edita twists to look over her shoulder at me. Her finger taps her lips. Quiet.
I nod, pressing my lips tight together to pin in the sound. The muffled tap of my footsteps fills my ears instead. Even that seems oddly funny; the wrapped cloth tickles the soles of my feet, lifted into the air as I balance on my toes. The path is frost beneath them. The northern town of Lo Dasi hangs in a haze different to the mountains or the coast; it is not dark or grey with rain-clogged fog and more still, the air's breath held tight, time itself frozen in place. There is no mist to shroud the streets, no snow piled high upon the flat farmland that surrounds these little shacks, yet the cold claws at every doorframe all the same. There's a thrill about the silence, the stillness, something almost magical. Playful shivers skip over my bones.
My borrowed cloak slaps my ankles as we spin around a corner. A man buried in ragged furs jumps at our approach, pausing his work in scraping at the hinges of his door. He shoots us an odd look. I giggle in response, unable to help myself. The people that remain up here are reclusive, passive, far too busy with their own affairs to be a danger. They're workers, Edita explained to me. They're no-one.
"Hi," I say, my voice squeaking. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?"
The man raises an eyebrow and turns back to his work. Absurd amusement bubbles up, curling my lips. Edita tugs at my wrist, her dark eyes gleaming with similar mischief. "Faster," she whispers.
Our hasty stumble becomes a sprint, and we tear through the town, my feet skidding on patches of slippery ice. The sun above is haloed in misty white. Mid-morning rays, faint and devoid of warmth, paint yellow stripes upon the straw rooftops. We crash through the slit of one as Edita drags me into a narrow alley, my heaving chest pressed to hers, our panting breaths mingling in a hot-cold breeze that tickles my cheeks.
She tosses a wary glance over her shoulder and then hunkers further down, pulling me with her. My gaze tracks the same frost-bitten path and finds it empty. "You do realise that no-one is chasing us?" I say, dropping the words in between strained, shallow inhales.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and suddenly I'm aware of my heart, the raw, reverberating thud of its beat. She flashes her fangs. "Let us pretend that they are."
We kiss, and it feels like second nature. The last couple days have passed in a whirlwind of delirium, sweeping me from one hour to the next, and I've been far too caught up in simply keeping my feet to remember to mourn the empty absence of my flame. It's so different to the previous sluggish drag of time's flow, and I revel in it. It's a safe kind of chaos, somewhere to inject all that restless anxiety and draw out pleasure in its place. A wild, whirling freedom.
Perhaps it is foolish to convince myself this is happiness, yet it feels so close to that faraway concept that I can do nothing but grasp it with both hands. I want this. I want this beautiful sensation of her closeness, the tingle as she caresses the top of my spine, the deep, focused look in her black eyes. The pit in my chest is closed again, and all is right.
It does not all last forever. We're laughing as we both retract, our foreheads resting against one another as I press my weight into her, though I feel my own hitch a little, aware of the returning stab of pain. But it's small. I can deal with it. My smile stays.
"We should get out of here," she whispers, urgency drained away to make room for the game in her voice.
I close my eyes. "Yeah." The energy shatters all at once. A tired hum leaves my lips as I hold her closer. It wouldn't be overly difficult to tap at the door of sleep and let it flood in, content as I am. "In a minute."
YOU ARE READING
A Deadly Bite
Fantasy** SEQUEL TO A TOUCH OF DARKNESS ** Nathaniel used to be a curse. Now, with friends by his side and a sword in his hand, he can finally do more than destroy. Yet his flame's absence is no blessing. Coping with the pain it leaves behind grows more di...
