I promised a Dusk/Kellan teaser from Archivist 2 last Friday, but got hit hard by a headache that actually took me down for the entire weekend, so I’m making good with some fresh-off-the-page (just written today) slow, slow burn … squee!!!
“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Dusk?” he asked quietly.
“Afraid?” I frowned. Was that what he was picking up from me? Fear?
“Of the monster within.”
Monster? Not wolf?
“You think of yourself as a monster, Kellan?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but his hand was fisted on his knee, his shoulders tight. “You watch me.”
“You watch me.”
“I most certainly do. Yet you never close the space between us, you never take the last step. Or any step for that matter.”
I didn’t have an answer for him, not without just lamely repeating what I’d already said.
“Do you wait for everything to be handed to you, Dusk?” His tone was suddenly edged in frustration.
“I can fight for what I want,” I said stiffly, realizing as I said it that it was possible I’d never actually ever fought for anything in my life. Not for myself. I wasn’t certain I’d ever wanted something that it was necessary to fight for. I’d fight to preserve what I already had, of course …
Kellan was smirking at me again, sprawled out against the log, firelight dancing across his skin, defining every muscle. “Me, Dusk. You want me. Your heart rate increases, your breathing slows, your pupils dilate just a bit. I know you want me. I can smell it on you, under all that honey that you use to mask your scent.”
I had no idea what he meant – though I most definitely smelled right now, of seaweed, saltwater, and damp cotton – but a flush of anger rose at the ridiculousness of his statement.
– Archivist 2, chapter eight, first draft
Reading order of the Archivist Series:
I hope you have a fantastic weekend! We’re freaking sweltering here, and the air quality is a bit nasty (from the forest fires), but I’m hoping to write, get in a hike, and make some ice cream.
