From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Eighteen

Someone tries to shake me awake. I mumble some excuse for thirty more minutes with my subconscious in charge, but my shaker doesn't relent.

"I see Sebastien hasn't exaggerated; you do sleep like the dead. How long does it take for you to fully wake up?"

It doesn't sound like she's going away, so I grumble, "Two hours if I'm lucky. Fifteen minutes minimum if you want me human, thirty if no one wants to die.

"Sorry, sweetie, we don't have that kind of time. Sebastien's an early riser, and it's already light out."

Five minutes later I'm shivering and longing for my blankets outside Sebastien's door when things start to make a bizarre kind of sense.

"Remember the plan," Bronwyn whispers. "I'll dampen his senses long enough for you to settle into the chair beside his bed so you can hold his hand while he's asleep and unable to hold back his energy."

"And you'll be keeping tabs just in case," I say, yawning.

"Right," she promises before closing her eyes and evening out her breathing.

I poke my head through the doorway to let me eyes adjust to the darkness, but Sebastien's natural, full-on incandescence lights up the bed like a lighthouse.

He's thrown one arm over his head, and kicked his covers down to his hips. The waistband of his pajama bottoms peeks out from under the blankets. His chest is divided between haloes and shadows.

I touch my fingers to the well-defined muscles of his shoulder, letting the steady rise and fall of his breath quiet the chaos the warmth of his skin causes in my own.

The door clicks shut and I remember I'm a girl on a mission. It's easy enough to curl up in the chair beside his bed, and weave my fingers with those of the hand across his chest. His energy pushes harder this time, a hot shower rather than a spring storm. The pulse of it lulls me back to sleep.

*****

Something is tickling my nose. I squirm away from it, rolling onto my other side. The tickle comes again, so I wiggle my nose deeper into my pillow, trying to slip back into oblivion.

"Having sweet dreams are we, Sleeping Beauty?" a voice asks, breaking into my brain,

"Repunzel," I mumble at it. "The hair."

The tingly, tickly sensation outlines my lips. "Oh, but don't you want to be Sleeping Beauty just this once?" The voice argues, both rough in a whisper, and silky at the same time. "The prince has to kiss her to break her spell."

"Don't know any princes."

The voice chuckles, the fluttering feeling moving to my jawline. "Oh, what a wound! You know me, and I'm a prince . . . of sorts."

Warm, sweet breath brushes against my neck, jolting me out of my coma. I only know of one person who can sound this arrogant without even trying.

My eyes fly open, unable to see anything at first because of the sheet of white-blond hair only a couple inches from my face. Sebastien is grinning down at me like some gorgeous Loki. I realize I'm on the bed, and he's now in the chair. I do not want him to know how much this freaks me out.

"Long time no irritate," I say coolly, and stretch.

"I enjoy my talents more when I give my victim a little time between attacks. Lulls them into a false sense of security, you see," he says, brushing an errant strand of hair back behind my ear with a bare fingertip. So, has he gotten the message about his energy?

"I knew you were a sadist," I accuse. "Only you could get your jollies from tormenting the dead."

He places a hand to my throat, searching for my pulse, which speeds up all on its own. "Necrophilia being frowned upon, I must disagree with you there. Of all the people in the world, I think I'd know if you were even the slightest bit dead," he says soberly, but then he grins. "Care to tell me how I managed to wake to a most unusual teddy bear next to my bed?