Don't Let Go (Third Book to the Other Side)

Chapter Thirty One (The Lost Warrior)

My eyes blinked against the soft light streaming in through the window as whatever remained of the dream swirled away, disappearing into the air as if it had never existed in the first place. My limbs felt light, unused, and just now aware of the world around me. I was about to close my eyes and drift back into the sleep clawing at my body, when my gaze landed on something that purged the world of terror and fear and anger and sorrow.

A hand clasped firmly in mine, just in front of my face.

I risked a glance over my shoulder, holding my breath in case it had all been a dream and what I saw now was an illusion, a cruel trick to top off everything else.

But, no.

He was there.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched him as discreetly as I could, wishing that I didn't have my back turned to him. One hand was intertwined with mine, an unspoken promise lingering in the back of my head, and with the other, he was stroking a small, hummingbird-looking creature sitting in front of him. A book hovered in front of his face all on its own, and a pair of chattering birds were dragging a comb through his untidy morning-hair. The gray light of the morning sky outside danced across his face, warming his features and highlighting the soft smile he wore.

I wanted to grasp this moment forever and never let go. To clasp it all together and bottle it up. To have this until the rest of time and never have to worry about a single thing ever again.

I watched him for as long as I was able to before giving into temptation and sliding my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his back in one fluid movement.

He jumped in surprise at once, his entire body freezing up.

"Thomas?" I asked softly, for any louder would have shattered the moment completely. "Thomas, it's just me."

"Sorry," he whispered, and his body relaxed against mine. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, it's alright," I whispered, kissing the warm skin of his neck. I waited until he was fully relaxed, resting his body against mine before I dared to speak again. "Whatcha reading, my dear?"

Thomas made a soft noise of amusement in the back of his throat. "My dear?" he repeated. "That's cute." A pause. "You're cute."

"I'm adorable." I drew my fingers across his waist with one hand and let my other slip down to his thigh. In addition to the swarm of butterflies fluttering in the air around us and crawling up our skin, my stomach tingled as though hundreds flapped around in there. "And stop avoiding my question."

"I'm not avoiding anything." He hummed a soft song for a long moment, his back vibrating as he did so. I kissed his bare skin lightly, grinning at the way the warmth bombarded my senses. Finally, he sighed and showed me the cover of the book.

"Alice in Wonderland?" I asked, reading the title. "Ooh, illustrations by Salvador Dalí? I didn't know we had the funds for something like that."

Thomas laughed. He had a beautiful laugh, one that sounded like silver and the sweet trill of a songbird greeting the rising moon. And stars, I had forgotten just how that laugh made my knees go weak, and I had forgotten just how much I wanted to be the person who earned that delightful sound.

"What in the world are you even talking about?" he asked, swatting away the birds still intent on brushing his hair.

"I don't know. I think I'm a little loopy."

Thomas sighed and returned to reading. I pressed my mouth against his shoulder. He tensed against me, and it didn't take much time to deduce that suddenly, there were things a bit more important than his book.