Page 23 of Molt

“August.” My name in her mouth comes out so softly.

I close my eyes.

Don’t.

She turns in my arms. Her face is too close. “What were we?”

Nothing. We were nothing.

Say it. Destroy it.

“Tell me.”

I look into her eyes. I’ve watched those eyes die. I’ve watched them change color. I’ve watched them appear in faces I didn’t recognize.

But they’re always hers.

Somehow. Always.

“We were a mistake.”

Her face falls.

Good.

I release her and she steps away. “Fuck you.”

“There she is.”

“What is your problem?” She growls.

“You.” I snap.

Her mouth opens.

But I keep going because cruelty has saved me before. “You show up every few decades wearing another face, another body, another fucking life, and somehow you always find me.”

Her anger disappears and transforms into confusion. “What?”

“I move. You find me. I hide. You find me. I change names. Countries. Languages. Doesn’t matter.” I growl, crowding her space. Making sure that with every step I take sends her closer to the front door.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ.” She runs her hands through her hair and a small piece of skin catches between her fingers.

She doesn’t notice but I do.

My stomach drops.

It’s accelerating.

“Go downstairs.”