Page 103 of Ensnared

Axel smiles. “Your heart did that when he touched you, and I didn’t like it.”

“That’s close to an emotion we feel too. It’s called jealousy.”

“Jealousy.” He drops his hand. “Our studies tell us that’s wishing you had what someone else has.” He frowns. “I don’t want what Gideon has.”

“Maybe not,” I say, “but you might want my attention.” As I say it, I realize how presumptuous I sound, like I think he’s pining for me or something. I already know he doesn’t have feelings like ours.

“You’re mine,” Axel says. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Maybe it’s that simple. “You clearly feel possessive about things, and maybe that’s why you slide into something close to what we know as jealousy. You don’t share, and jealousy is when you feel like someone else is taking what’s yours.”

“He can’t have you.” He lifts his hand again, this time absently, like he’s not really aware of what he’s doing, his fingers brushing the hair back from my face. “I don’t want him to touch your face. I don’t want anyone touching your face.”

“Humans don’t like the idea of belonging to anyone else.” I push his hand away. “We’ve fought wars over it, and we don’t relinquish our independence easily.”

“All of life is about hierarchy and power structures,” Axel says. “Pretending otherwise is foolish.”

“Perhaps.” I lift my hand this time. “But think about this. You may own me, but I make demands on you, and you listen and honor them.” I touch his brow, my hand far above my own shoulder, and then I drag it down slowly until my finger’s next to his mouth. “I can’t teach you to kiss, because no one can do that. Kissing’s an extension of an emotion you don’t possess.”

“What emotion?” His lips move as he speaks, pressing gently against my finger. As if he likes it, he leans closer, turning his face toward my hand.

I’m not ready to teach a lesson on love. I’m not even sure I understand it.

“Lust,” I whisper. “When two people want to touch one another, when two people can’t think about anything but touching that other person. . .” I drag my finger downward, pulling his top lip toward his bottom, and then stopping, my finger pressing harder against his mouth. I swallow slowly. “You want to press your bodies closer, too.” Why’s my voice so breathy?

“So it’s like a mating ritual,” he says. “But why the mouths?” He’s looking at my mouth, still speaking against the pressure of my finger.

I pull back, but he stops me—by biting the tip of my finger. He releases me quickly, but he still looks confused.

“Why not hands?” His voice is as low as mine was, like he’s mimicking me in everything I do.

I drop my hand. “People usually hold hands first.”

“Like this?” He reaches for my hand, covering the back of my hand with his, sliding his fingers between mine, his fingers easily sliding past the one he just bit.

It’s been a really, really long day, and I’m one of the only beings who knows about his secret. That’s probably what’s going on—the excitement of a shared secret—but every nerve ending on my body is awake and alert, almost in overdrive. My hand, where he’s touching it, feels like the only place on earth that matters.

It’s the only thing I can think about.

“Can you feel this?” His words almost sound like a rhetorical question, but the bond’s a bright gold color I’ve never noticed before. It’s almost shining.

This doesn’t feel smart. I try to slide my hand free. “We probably ought to?—”

“No.” Axel tightens his hand around mine. “This is different from anything I’ve ever done.” He lifts his eyes to mine, and his are glowing softly. “I like it.”

He likes it.

For some reason those three words shift something inside of me, something strange. It’s like I’m a boat that’s come unmoored. I’m floating in the middle of the ocean, no anchor, no dock, no course set. I’m free, but also so very lost.

“Axel,” I say, “I think?—”

His free hand whips up, his finger pressing against my mouth this time. “Shh.”

“Axel.”

He smiles and moves his finger. “You can say my name. I don’t mind that.”

“Today has been really long.”