Page 51 of Bonepetal

No blood. No skull.

His eyes are glossy-dark and too alive. He’s smiling like tragedy taught him charm and he practiced until it fit.

The whole of me saysnoat once.

Every cell. Every secret, but the word never reaches my mouth.

“Salem,” he says, my name a soft growl. His voice is the one I loved before it learned to crawl out of graves.

Warm, and low. A velvet scrape

“You didn’t really think you could kill me, did you?” he purrs, the smile knifing wider. “Bonepetal, not even the devil's blade can sever the tether between us.” His thumb drifts, obscene and possessive. “You’re bound to me, Salem.” The lights blink—once, twice—like a heart he’s got between two fingers. “I belong to you now. Which means you belong to me.”

Behind him, wings.

Huge, crow-black, feathered to the floor, tips skimming the frame when they breathe. Oil-blue when he shifts. Of course he has wings.

And of course I open the door to a myth with my name in its mouth. He cocks his head, studying me like I’m a shiny thing on a sidewalk.

The bulb overhead gives a low, pleased buzz.

On my chest, the charm taps bone—no, that’s my pulse remembering who taught it the beat. The washer keeps thumping in the kitchen like time doesn’t care about me.

Behind me,the sill clicks—peck, peck. Two crows have landed again, black eyes on the room, beaks testing the glass.

I flinch, glance back, stupid, and then snap to him because I know better than to look away.

My mouth opens; nothing comes out. Air, that’s all.

He doesn’t hurry. He doesn’t have to.

Two fingers to the door; it swings wider with a soft sigh. He leans in until his breath fogs my lip, a cocky smirk cutting one corner of his mouth.

“Go on,” he murmurs, amused. “Tell me to leave.”

I don’t. My throat stays locked.

His eyes spark victory, fond and cruel. “Didn’t think so.”

He steps over the threshold like it was made for him; his wings fold just enough to clear the frame, feathers whispering against the paint, shadows unspooling at his heel, and his smile reaching his ears.

“Close the door, bonepetal.”

My hand moves before my mind does; the door swings shut, the soft click sounding exactly like a vow.

A vow I never meant to make.