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Fingers down my back, blood in my mouth, the tempting scent of the darkest cave—they all bombard me at once. His face twists into a crooked smile. He crawls forward, and the darkness leans in. “You think there’s something wrong with you?” He breathes into my ear.

My heart breaks records in my chest. “I know there is.”

He shoves me onto my back and leans in again. “You think you’re dark?”

“Black-hearted.”

He scoffs. “Want to know what I think?”

“What?” I gulp back a trace of regret and glance at the canopy far above, the tiny pockets of gray sky that push through.

He lowers himself to my ear again. “There’s not a speck of wrongness in you, not a shade of darkness.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him. Because I feel it. I feel it lurking in my mind, infecting my blood.

He sits up and raises his chin. “Then show me your darkness. Show me where it comes from.”

“I don’t have a—”

“You do if you’re truly dark.” He reaches into a pocket. “I’ll find it. I’ll cut it off at the fucking source.” The silver shimmer of his knife looms over me.

I silently call his bluff, not even flinching. But the blade grazes my stomach. A slow, precise touch. He slices my shirt straight up the middle. I hold my breath, savoring the wisp of his fingerson my skin. He reaches the collar of my shirt, the knife at my throat. With one more gentle tug, it’s free. My shirt falls open at my sides.

Eli sucks in a breath. His eyes prance and flit over his prize, at the nervous flexing of my abdomen and the embroidered scene on the cups of my bra. He scrapes a circle around my navel with the blade, then folds his body, landing his lips on my belly button. I suck in, pulling the sensitive spot away from him, and he follows it down, flicking his tongue inside before pushing himself back up.

I gasp, clamping my hand over my stomach.

“Stop that.”

“No darkness here,” he says, flipping me over, my cheek pressing into the mossy ground.

The tip of his knife glides across my back, pushing my damp hair up and over my shoulder. The slice of my shirt and the neck loop of my bra send a trail of whispers up my spine. He brushes the pieces away with the knife’s edge, sliding the sleeves down my arms and past my hands, then flattens himself over my body. Breathless and trapped, desire pounds through me.

“No darkness back here.”

I spit the hair from my face. “It’s on the inside.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll check there.” He rolls me onto my back again.

Looking down at me, hunger and lust leak from his features. His tongue spills over his lower lip, his cheeks kissed pink.

“Eli…” It slips out of me, a breathy plea.

“Busy,” he drums back, slicing up one leg of my pants, then the other, the swipe of his knuckles tickling my shins and thighs.

I’m deathly still, need flooding my senses. Gentle knife swishes peel the pants away from the sides of my legs, and cool metal frees the fabric from between my thighs.

“Nothing dark here.”

He puts me on my stomach again with an effortless roll, rips away the scrap of pants stuck to me and I’m all his. Nothing but the string tie of my bra and the thin fabric of my underwear block his search. I’m exposed—like when he looks so deep into my eyes.

“Not a fucking thing here.” He slaps my ass with the flat of his knife. I look over my shoulder at the stinging line of fresh blood seeping into my underwear and flip onto my back to properly glare at him.

“I told you. It’s—”

“I’m not done yet.” He climbs on top of me.

My hands grip his thighs, riding up the hard muscles that hold back his full-weight from crushing me. Knife now at his side, he bunches up the sheared fabric scattered about and pulls out a fire stone from his pack, as if he were about to light up a teva roll. The stone flares red, and he holds it up to the ball of sliced clothes. Though still wet from the rain, they go up in flames and blast my face with heat. Ash flurries down, covering the mountain and waterfall on my bra in gossamer layers of darkness.