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Chapter One Hundred Twelve

LUNA

There’s no time to stare into his all-color eyes or linger over the golden glow of his skin. He pulls me up to a sitting position, but I’m steady. He didn’t take enough to make me woozy. He retrieves a bandage from a cabinet behind me and quickly dabs the place he sucked my consciousness from.

“It’s already healing.” He lets the neck of the sweater bounce back and ends by kissing under my jaw.

I peek under my sweater. It’s like a huge hickey, not an open wound. Mostly though, I feel as if I’m observing my body from ten thousand feet in the sky.

“Will it be like that every time?” I ask.

My world is new. The darkness has its own presence, as do the bits of light from the exit sign. Shadows are their own space. If I give them my attention, I can touch them with my mind.

“Every time?” He wipes his face with a cloth from the same cabinet. All the amenities are right inside the chair. “Could you even tolerate that twice in one lifetime?”

I shake away the overwhelming presence of all the material and immaterial things that exist.

“Maybe not.” I slide off the chair. A half-gallon of viscous Carmine flows out of me.

He grabs my arm to steady me, then crouches at my feet while reaching for another towel. The world is coming back into focus. I can feel gravity holding me down but don’t perceive it as a physical object.

“We walk out calmly, together.” He’s efficient when he cleans between my legs.

“And get the knife?”

He breathes a laugh. “Not tonight.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” He tosses the towel into a corner. “But you’re not leaving my sight again.”