Mortal Fantasy

✴｜chapter eighteen

The quietest of breathing stirs me from unconsciousness, a mere whisper on air. I realize that my feet aren't upon the ground, instead swinging in the air like bent flower heads in the wind.

I let my head drop back. The feeling is pleasant, a distant sway that could have lulled me to sleep had I not just woken. My throat feels cold and exposed, so I curl into something firm and warm. Piqued with curiosity, my fingers wander a soft, stiff fabric that gives way to a stitched metal star that I nearly prick my fingertip with.

"Stop moving around so much," comes a murmur from above me. In confusion and a dulled, yet rising sense of alarm, I move my face upward in an attempt to orient myself and instead touch my nose to warm soft skin. Releasing an unsteady breath, I reach up with my hand and grip something—a shoulder?—and pull my face up so that my lips touch the edge of an earlobe.

Whoever carries me stiffens immediately, as if taken by an electric shock. The scent of fresh garments and a deep flowered wood lingers, and I shift so that my mouth is able to open against his skin. Silly as it must be, I have the irrepressible urge to taste my captor. And what's to stop me? I think, smiling happily at the thought, and move my lips behind his ear—to which I receive a particularly sharp jerk.

"Stop that," comes a low, breathless growl. "If you'd prefer I drop you, try it again and see if I'm a man who goes against my word."

"I was simply wondering what you taste like," I explain, drawing back from his neck and holding his face to stabilize myself. A giddy half-smile lights upon my mouth. "You smell delicious."

An incredulous laugh, and I feel his throat shiver. "Should I be honored that you're talking to me as if addressing a sugar-frosted delicacy?"

"How do I know if you're covered in sugar?" I object, adjusting myself closer to his body. He's terribly warm, whoever he is. I even feel the heat building in his neck, in his hands. "I would have to ascertain that fact, and it simply won't do if you don't let me closer..."

I reach up in another attempt to get my taste, but he cranes his head away and continues walking, to my dismay. Stopping promptly in front of what seems a door, he cradles me against his chest and with his free hand opens something. Laying my head on his heart, trying to whisper alliterations to as fast a pulse as I hear, I swing my legs up into the air, practically kicking off my shoes. Deciding I like the feeling very much, I keep kicking my legs, when I hear the same voice mutter, "Must you be so troublesome?"

"Troublesome?" I try to twist away and cross my arms, though I nearly fall out of his grasp and he has to lunge to keep me from hitting the floor. "It was not my suggestion that you carry me." I frown. "Or was it? I can't remember..."

A heavy sigh reaches my ears, briefly after which I am dumped onto what feels like a bed. Spreading my arms and legs out in an angel shape, I roll across the opulent comforter, burying my face into its embroidery and smiling despite the discomfort of my gown having ridden up all the way to my thighs from my persistent squirming. I hear the distinct sound of clasps being undone, and then buttons snapping, as if an impatient hand has pulled them apart. Twisting around from my face-flat position on the bed, I look up to see a dark-haired figure leaning back against the wall, looking as if he is contemplating the universe as he stares up at the ceiling. He wears a dark sleeveless vest, open so that I can see figured abdominal muscles, and as he begins to walk off I raise a splayed hand and pat the comforter firmly.

"If you're going to sleep, might I suggest the bed?" I roll around onto my back and beckon invitingly to my abode. Though my vision seems hazier than usual, I feel completely relaxed, as if I could reach comfort anywhere. "It's very comfortable, I think you'll find."