Page 16 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
ELIAS
I don’t mean to linger.
I never do.
But I find myself at the edge of Mira’s threshold again, not quite inside, not quite out, like I’ve forgotten how doors work. The scent of rosemary and protective wards buzzes just under my skin, static and sharp. It’s stronger now. She made it that way.
“You planning to loiter or float through the drywall again?” Mira’s voice cuts through the air, all flint and salt.
I step inside, slow. Deliberate.
She’s at the counter, grinding something that looks like bone and smells like judgment. Her gaze flicks up just long enough to flay me alive.
“You’re getting too good at that,” she mutters.
I don’t answer. Just stand there like a man still pretending he’s a ghost, or a ghost pretending he’s still a man.
She slams the pestle down a little too hard.
“What do you want, Elias?”
“Where’s Sienna?”
“Out. With Lyle. Checking the tunnel again.”
My jaw tightens. “Alone?”
“She’s got backup charms. Wards. Me.”
“That’s not the same.”
Mira rounds on me, braid swinging like a blade. “No, it’s not. Because I don’t make her wake up screaming.”
The words hit harder than they should. Not because they’re wrong. But because they’re not.
“She said the dreams are worse,” she continues, stalking toward me with fury in every step. “The more time you spend near her, the more human you get—and the more she bleeds it out.”
“She’s fine,” I growl.
“She’s deteriorating, Elias.”
“She hasn’t said that.”
“Because she doesn’t want you to leave!”
Her voice breaks at the end, and that’s when I see it.
The fear.
Not just for Sienna.
Of me.
“I’m not feeding off her,” I say, voice low. “I didn’t choose this.”
“But you’re not fighting it either.” Mira crosses her arms, keeping herself between me and everything fragile in the room. “Every time she touches you, your shape holds longer. Your shadow sticks. Your voice doesn’t echo. And you like it.”
“I never asked to be real again.”
“But you want it.”
That silences me.
Because gods help me, she’s right.
I want the weight of footsteps. The ache in my joints. I want firelight and the thrum of a heartbeat and the way Sienna’s laugh stumbles when she’s caught off-guard. I want all of it.
Even if it means bleeding her dry.
Mira sees the guilt on my face and softens—just barely.
“She’s burning at both ends,” she says quietly. “Fighting your curse and her own grief like she can outrun it. But if this relic is drawing from her—if it chose her as the tether—it won’t stop. It’ll drain her. And you’ll get more human every time she breaks.”
“I wouldn’t let it,” I whisper.
“You might not have a choice.”
The door opens behind us.
Sienna steps in, wind-bitten and flushed, curls a mess, boots muddy. Her jacket’s hanging open and there’s a fresh scrape across her knuckle.
She stops cold.
Takes one look at the space between Mira and me.
“What the hell happened?”
Mira’s voice is steel. “Ask your dead boyfriend.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Sienna’s already stepping between us.
“Stop. Both of you.”
She plants herself in the middle like she’s bracing for an explosion. Her hands go to her hips—classic defensive Sienna posture. That scar over her brow twitches like it always does when she’s barely holding it together.
“I’ve had enough of the ‘protect Sienna from herself’ committee,” she snaps. “I’m not fragile. I’m not cursed. And I’m not yours to argue over.”
“You’re not fine,” Mira says. “You’re not sleeping. You’re burning out. He’s—he’s rooted in you, Sienna.”
“I let him in,” she fires back. “I chose this.”
“Then choose again.”
That lands like a slap. Even I flinch.
Sienna goes very, very still. Her voice, when it comes, is ice.
“You don’t get to ask me that.”
Mira opens her mouth. Shuts it again.
Sienna turns to me. “Elias. Say something.”
I step forward. Not quite touching. Just close enough that she feels the pull.
“You’ve kept me anchored,” I say softly. “You gave me back choice . But if it’s hurting you—if I’m part of what’s draining you—I’ll sever it. I swear it.”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t you dare.”
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t make choices for me, Elias. That’s not love. That’s control.” She presses a hand to her chest, right over the charm Mira gave her. “You told me I could stand beside you. I’m still standing.”
“But—”
“I decide what I carry. Not you. Not Mira. Me. ”
The room quiets.
Mira breaks first, sighing like it costs her something.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” she murmurs.
“You won’t,” Sienna says. “But I’m not just yours to save anymore.”
Mira nods, sharp and silent, then turns back to her counter. Conversation over.
Sienna takes my hand.
It’s warm. Solid. Real.
“Come on,” she says, eyes unreadable. “We’ve got a relic to find.”
And I follow her, not because I’m her tether,
But because I’m starting to believe she might be mine.
We walk the edge of the shoreline in silence.
The moon is swollen tonight. Fat and watchful. The kind of moon that used to guide ships and doom them in the same breath. Sienna’s coat flaps in the breeze, and her hand never leaves mine. Not once.
She pulls us off the path, behind a weather-warped driftwood log, half-buried in the sand. We sit. Her thigh presses into mine. The tide murmurs.
“Why does it feel like the sea’s watching us?” she asks.
“It always does,” I murmur. “It just doesn’t always care.”
She leans her head on my shoulder.
I don’t breathe, though I don’t need to.
Not when she’s this close.
Her voice is soft, quiet, almost a confession. “You scared me, back there. Not ‘ghost-in-the-hallway’ scared. Us scared.”
“I scare myself, sometimes,” I admit.
She tilts her face up toward me. Moonlight silvering her lashes.
“Then do something that doesn’t.”
Her mouth is so close.
One heartbeat—hers, not mine.
And I kiss her.
It’s not careful.
It’s not hesitant.
It’s the kind of kiss that says I remember every life I didn’t get to live. The kind that says if I only get one more night tethered to this world, I want it to end here—in this fog, in this sand, with her.
When we pull apart, we’re both breathless.
And somehow, I am breathing.
She smiles against my jaw.
“Still think I’m burning out?”
“No,” I say, my voice rough. “I think you’re the one keeping the fire lit.”