He startled her by smiling.
“I am dead, Ingrid,” he said softly. “I’ve been dead for hundreds of years. Why should that bother you?”
She didn’t know what to say. Why should it bother her? How could it not?
“You’re not dead. You’re standing right in front of me, breathing, talking.” Ingrid poked him hard in the chest. “Solid, see? You’re not some ghostly specter. You’re alive.”
Luc seized the hand that had poked him and held it away from her side.
“I do feel alive sometimes,” he whispered. Ingrid pulled her hand back, but he counterpulled and, no surprise, won. She stumbled closer to his chest.
“There is so much that we don’t feel as gargoyles. We don’t feel hunger or thirst. We don’t have to sleep, though some of us do it out of habit. Or boredom. You have no idea how bored I’ve been before. No dreams, no goals, nothing to do but protect. Nothing driving me but that one act, and most of the time my human charges never even needed me.”
Luc drew her hand to his cheek. Breath stuck fast in her throat, Ingrid uncurled her fingers and touched him. He was warm, his skin like velvet. He pressed her hand against him and exhaled, long and hard.
“I never thought I’d have such difficult humans to take care of.” Before she could quarrel, he went on, “But I’ve never felt more alive than I have since meeting you.”
He turned his cheek until his lips were against her palm, his breath hot. “You’re dangerous, Ingrid. You make me feel things that I shouldn’t.”
He kissed the heart of her hand.
“Luc.” It was the only coherent word revolving through her mind. There was nothing else, just Luc and his lips, and she knew that she wanted this. She wanted him to keep talking and touching her. She wanted Luc to kiss her the way he had before.
He let go of her hand, but she kept it against his cheek, willing the moment to stretch on.
“Is he courting you?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes sooty malachite.
Vander. He was there now, stuck within the spare inch or so left between Ingrid and Luc. Reminding her that she’d kissed him just a few hours before. How could she have been so thoughtless?
“No. But you should know—”
Luc kissed her, stealing away the rest of her confession. Ingrid let it go, tasting again the wild spice of his lips, his warm breath as it mingled with hers. She gave herself over to the touch of his tongue, the rock of his body as he crushed her closer. He wanted to make her a part of him, and she wanted that, too. To dissolve into him, sink deeper, into a place without end. He explored her hips and hitched them flush against his own.
Luc dropped his chin and gave her a gentle push away. He breathed deeply, his jaw tight and eyes closed.
“Are you … changing?” She’d known it couldn’t last. His curse might allow a kiss, or perhaps even two. But his body would forever revolt against what it wanted: her.
Luc shook his head and opened his eyes. They were surprisingly serene. “Not yet. Knowing that it’s coming this time helps.”
Ingrid didn’t understand how, but it made her happy nevertheless. She lifted her hand to his mouth and traced his full lower lip, the same way she had in the underground arcade. It moved beneath her fingers as he spoke.
“If we try hard enough we can sometimes stave off a shift. Not for very long. A minute. Maybe two.” With another gentle push, Luc moved Ingrid backward. Her skirts brushed against the mattress. “It won’t be easy. I don’t know if I can do it.”
Ingrid smoothed the front of his shirt with her palms. She wanted him to try. She wanted it so badly the need for it weighed heavy in her chest. Luc locked his hands around her waist and lifted her to sit upon the mattress. He inclined toward her, but Ingrid leaned back. If they kissed again, his hold on his shift might break. She wanted him to stay as he was for as long as he could.
“Perhaps we should … talk,” she said.
Luc raised one of his dark brows. “Talk?”
“It might help you to not change so quickly.”
Luc put one knee onto the mattress, then the other, until they bracketed her legs.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
Ingrid edged backward, pushing herself toward the headboard. He followed. On hands and knees, Luc crawled over the ugly chintz coverlet.
“I really don’t know very much about you,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. The predatory shine in his eyes was distracting her. “What did you do when you were human? Did you go to school?”
Ingrid’s back hit the mound of pillows and she swallowed hard.