Page 77 of Gilded

She shivered as she was pulled back to the horrible truth she’d been trying to forget.

“But I am not sorry I got to see you again,” continued Gild. “Even if that makes me as selfish as any of the dark ones.” He looked positively miserable to be confessing this. He knotted his hands in his lap, knuckles going white. “And I hated seeing you cry. But at the same time, I really liked holding you.”

Heat rushed into Serilda’s cheeks.

“It’s just that—” He stopped himself, struggling for words. His voice was thick, almost pained, when he tried again. “Remember when I told you that I’ve never met any mortals before? At least, that I know of.”

Serilda nodded.

“That never really bothered me. I guess I never gave it much thought. I never realized you would be … that someone who’s alive would be … like you.”

“So soft?” she said, with a note of teasing.

He exhaled, embarrassed, but starting to smile. “And warm. And … solid.”

His gaze fell to her hands resting in her lap. She could still feel the phantom caress from earlier. That delicate brush against her skin.

Her gaze darted across tohishands. Hands that, until her, had never touched a human being. They were clutched together, as if he were trying to keep himself from dissolving.

Or from reaching out to her.

Serilda thought of all the touches she took for granted. Even if she had always been something of an outcast in Märchenfeld, she had never been completely ostracized. She’d had her father’s all-encompassing hugs. The children who would snuggle against her sides while she told them her tales. Tiny moments that meant nothing. But, to someone who had never experienced them?…

Nervously wetting her lips, Serilda scooted forward.

Gild tensed, watching with trepidation as she inched closer, until she was sitting beside him, her back against the same wall. Their shoulders almost, but not quite, together. Just close enough that the little hairs on her arms prickled at his nearness.

Holding her breath, she held out her hand, palm up.

Gild stared at it for a very, very long time.

When he finally reached for her, he was trembling. She wondered if he was nervous or frightened or something else?

When the pads of their fingers pressed together, she could feel the tension release from him, and she realized that was the source of his fear. That, this time, he would slip right through her. Or the sensation wouldn’t be the same. That whatever warmth or softness he’d felt before would be gone.

Serilda laced their fingers together. Palm to palm. She could feel her heartbeat thundering through her fingers, and she wondered whether he noticed it, too.

His skin was dry, rough, covered in scratches from the straw. Dirt had long been embedded into the edges of his brittle fingernails. He had a scrape on one knuckle that hadn’t yet started to scab over.

They were not pretty hands, but they were strong and sure. At least, once he finally stopped shaking.

Serilda knew that her hands weren’t pretty, either. But she couldn’t help feeling that they fit together, just right.

She and this boy. This … whatever he was.

She tried to ward off the thought. He was desperate for human contact. Any human contact. She could have been anyone.

Besides, she thought, looking at the ring he’d slipped onto his pinkie finger, he might have saved her life, but he’d claimed his price for it. There were no favors between them. This was not friendship.

But that didn’t keep her blood from burning hotter for every moment that passed with his hand in hers.

It didn’t keep her heart from soaring when he leaned his head against her shoulder, letting out a sigh mixed with a sob.

Her lips parted in surprise.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back. His honesty startled her. It was as if his blithe demeanor had dissolved away, leaving him exposed.