Daughter of Smoke and Bone (38 page)

Sweetness gave way to something else. Pulse. Pleasure. What overwhelmed Karou was the
realness
, the deep physical
trueness
of Akiva—salt and musk and muscle, flame and flesh and heartbeat—the feeling of
allness
. The taste of him and the feel of him against her lips—his mouth and then his jaw, his neck and the soft place beneath his ear, and how he shivered when she kissed him there, and somehow her hands slipped under his shirt and up, so that only her half gloves were between her hands and his chest. Her fingertips danced over him and he shook and crushed her to him and the kiss was so much more than a kiss now.

It was Karou who leaned back, drawing him down with her, over her, and the feel of all of him against all of her was total and burning and…
familiar
, too, and she was herself but not herself, arching into him with a soft animal mewl.

And Akiva broke away.

It was quick as shattering—a lurch and he was up, leaving behind the jagged edges of the moment. Karou sat up fast. She didn’t know where her breath had gone. Her dress was bunched at her thighs; the wishbone lay abandoned on the blanket, and Akiva stood at the foot of the bed, faced away from her with his hands on his hips and his head lowered. His breathing matched hers in rhythm, even now. Karou sat silent, overcome by the power of what had possessed her. She had never felt anything like it. With space between them now, she was chastened—what had made her take things so far?—but she also wanted it back, the ache and salt and allness of it.

“I’m sorry,” said Akiva, strained.

“No, it was me, and it’s all right. Akiva, I love you, too—”

“It’s not all right,” he said, turning back, his tiger eyes violently ablaze. “It’s not all right, Karou. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I don’t want you to hate me more than you already—”

“
Hate
you? How could I ever—”

“Karou,” he said, cutting her short. “You have to know the truth, and you have to know it
now
. We have to break the wishbone.”

And so, at last, they did.

43

S
NAP

Such a little thing, and brittle, and the sound it made: a sharp, clean
snap
.

44

W
HOLE

Snap.

Rushing, like wind through a door, and Karou was the door, and the wind was coming home, and she was also the wind. She was all: wind and home and door.

She rushed into herself and was filled.

She let herself in and was full.

She closed again. The wind settled. It was as simple as that.

She was whole.

45

M
ADRIGAL

She is a child.

She is flying. The air is thin and miserly to breathe, and the world lies so far below that even the moons, playing chase across the sky, are seen from above, like the shining crowns of children’s heads.

She is no longer a child.

She slips down from the sky, through the boughs of requiem trees. It is dark, and the grove is alive with the
hish-hish
of evangelines, night-loving serpent-birds that drink the requiem blooms. They’re drawn to her—
hish-hish—
and dart around her horns, stirring the blossoms so pollen sifts down, golden, and settles on her shoulders.

Later, it will numb her lover’s lips as he drinks her in.