We’d lost some of the soil to the hole. It was inevitable.
But when we’d left it, the sphere hung a full ten feet from the vast crater beneath it.
Christian had been four square against me raking, but it required strength to resist the gravitational pull of the ergosphere up close, and since we had so many blasted holes to work on, he’d finally accepted that everyone with the right amount of muscle was necessary, including me. It had taken us all day to dig it out to our satisfaction.
During a brief break, he’d sifted me out to the abbey, a power I’d heard Mac now had, too. I was floored to discover she’d effortlessly rebuilt the fortress. She’s starting to make the Nine look like not-so-super heroes to me. I want to be Mac when I grow up. Then again, maybe not. I’d heard the Fae had already begun to seek her out with their problems, and I’ve got enough of my own.
I’d hit an old hidey-hole and showered once I returned to Dublin then headed with expeditious velocity for Trinity. I’d been getting a slew of excited texts from Dancer all afternoon.
Dancer.
One day, kid, Ryodan had said to me a long time ago, you’ll be willing to mortgage your fucking soul for somebody.
I devoutly hoped that bastard wasn’t going to prove right about everything he’d once said.
I remembered battling the Hoar Frost King at the abbey at fourteen, whisking Dancer to safety, dumping him on the sidelines because he was “only human.” Then I’d been whisked and dumped on the sidelines and gotten a taste of how it felt.
Who was I to tell Dancer not to live out loud, and in every color of the rainbow?
There was a special place in Hell for hypocrites, and I had no intention of ending up there.
So, I’d decided to pretend there was nothing wrong with Dancer to the precise degree he wanted me to pretend it. We would enter into an elaborate conspiracy of two. That was what friends did for each other when there was no other option.
Everything about the situation pissed me off. I’d always thought one day we might be more than just friends. I’d been perfectly willing to take my time getting to that point.
But thanks to a genetic flaw that was a treacherously ticking time bomb, coupled with the looming end of our world, there was no other way for me to see it than: one day was here.
I took the chance or I missed it. No guarantees. Fewer promises of tomorrow than I’d thought.
Scowling, I shoved my hair from my face then stopped to glance in one of the windows I was passing in the hallway, using my reflection to untangle the worst snarls.
I realized what I was doing and made a face at myself.
I didn’t care what I looked like. I’d never cared. I wasn’t starting now.
As I was about to walk through the door of the lab, I drew up short, frowning. I had a fluttery sensation in my stomach that I used to get often when I was young, and every time I did, it shorted out my powers. Silverside, I’d finally figured out it happened when I was either feeling extremely emotional or thinking intensely about sex. Why those two things shorted me out was beyond me. But they did.
At the moment I was both.
I inhaled deep. Exhaled slow. Bold. Ruthless. Energy. Action. Tenacity. Hunger. That was what B-R-E-A-T-H was.
Once the fluttering stopped, I did what I used to do—freeze-framed into the room and spooked Dancer right out of his chair.
The look on his face was priceless.
He knew by me doing it that I’d made up my mind, which was exactly what I wanted him to know. People tended to waste a lot of breath on words when a simple action communicated much more succinctly.
I wasn’t going to cage him. And I wasn’t going to let his heart be my cage either.
I was going to do exactly what I used to do. What Dancer was doing.
Live now.
As if there was no tomorrow.
That didn’t necessarily mean it was going to be easy. But I was damned well going to try.
He had on faded jeans and a white tee with the words, HOLY SHIFT! LOOK AT THE ASYMPTOTE ON THAT MOTHER FUNCTION! emblazoned on the front. “Does this mean you’re going to take me for a ride on that badass bike of yours, too?” He flashed me that one-of-a-kind Dancer grin that always lit up his face, holding nothing back, aqua eyes brilliant, full of life.
I nodded. Then I leaned in and kissed him. Not anything like I’d once kissed Ryodan. I’d done that to mess with him, and it had worked even though he tried to pretend it hadn’t. It’d messed with me, too.
I kissed Dancer with some part of myself I didn’t even understand. The me that kissed Ryodan, I got. She was hard, powerful, had an ancient soul and a fierce heart. The me that kissed Dancer was young, innocent, and although there was a massive door between the world and her soft heart, there was a path that could be walked to it, with a key hanging by the door, engraved with a D for Dani and Dancer. Sometimes I really did feel like I had two different people inside me, even though I knew I didn’t. One version of me was drawn to Dancer and another was a moth, obsessed with Ryodan’s flame. They evoked completely different qualities in me.
I kissed Dancer soft and slow, butterfly wings against his mouth, waiting to see what he did, how it was going to go between us.
He slipped his hands into my damp hair and said against my mouth, “God, I love it when you wear your hair down, Mega. It’s like you, full of fire and larger than life.”
We just kind of stood there, kissing slow and talking a little, and he told me he used to think he might never get to kiss me and he sure never thought I’d kiss him like this. And I told him I always thought he had the most incredible eyes, to which he replied he has a lot of incredible parts and I was welcome to check them out anytime I wanted.