Page 15 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

15

THORNE

P age’s fear is incredibly loud.

I know she’s on her way before she even reaches the Obscuary gate, her energy frantic. It’s later than usual, and she shouldn’t be here—it could attract suspicion—but I can feel how much she needs me, the sensation filling my chest, my throat.

I wait for her, unwilling to risk being caught if she was followed. But no one seems to be on her trail…and then she’s pulling open the bookcase, appearing on the other side.

Her hair is disheveled, clothes casual—a white t-shirt and jeans, plain and unassuming. She comes in without asking, brushing past where I’m sitting in my chair. Ashlan jumps out of my lap and follows her to a stack of books where she’s already running her fingers over the spines.

“You know, Page,” I say, rising and following her. “There’s a reason most people avoid the Obscuary after dark. Showing up here at this hour looks suspicious.”

“Suspicious to who?” she shoots back, her voice strained. I haven’t seen her like this before, not since she lost control in the Labyrinth. “There’s no one else here but you. ”

I arch an eyebrow. “And how do you think that looks, spending so much time with me? Late at night, in secluded corners of the archives? If Davina suspects?—”

“She’s not going to suspect that I’m hanging out with a guy who isn’t supposed to exist,” she snaps. She finishes going through the first stack of books, then she turns to look at me. Her eyes are wide, and there’s no mistaking the tremor in her hands. “We need to talk.”

“Clearly,” I murmur. “What happened?”

She doesn’t answer, going to another stack and kneeling to grab another book. “Yes, this is what I was looking for,” she mutters under her breath. She walks to the middle of the room and puts down the book on the table, flipping it open. I stand next to her, watching closely. “When I read about the human witches being able to move things with their mind, I didn’t realize it would just happen ? — ”

“Page,” I place a hand on the book, stopping her frantic activity. “Breathe.”

She freezes, her gaze snapping to mine. For a moment, she just stares at me, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Then she exhales sharply, shoulders slumping.

“I moved a glass.”

I blink. “You…moved a glass?”

“With my mind,” she clarifies, voice rising again. “I went to reach for it, and it just came to me, like…it just hovered. I wasn’t thinking about it, and then it just?—”

Her words tumble each other, her mind spinning out. I catch her hands, steadying them, if only in an effort to stop her inner monologue from screaming. Her hands are trembling, skin warm against mine, her pulse pounding.

“It’s getting stronger,” she whispers. “The telepathy, the energy…it’s like it has a mind of its own.”

I keep hold of her, not wanting to let her go until she’s calmed down—or maybe not at all. “Telekinesis is a common side effect of Elixir consumption.” I slide my thumbs across her knuckles, rhythmic and soothing. “You’re okay.”

“But I haven’t consumed Elixir!” she says. “I got exposed to it when I was a kid—a lot of it, yeah, but my powers didn’t even show up until recently…and they were subtle. Ever since I got here, though, they’re going crazy, getting worse. It’s scaring the hell out of me.”

“Page, your abilities are evolving,” I press. “Panic won’t help you control it.”

“I’m not panicking,” she snaps, snatching her hands away. She goes back to the shelves, scanning for other books. “I don’t want this…I didn’t ask for it, it’s not particularly helpful. I’m so, so sick of it.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t stop it or reverse it,” I say, giving her space but remaining close enough to protect her in case she manifests some new skill. “You learn to focus it, to harness it. But first, you need to understand it.”

She scoffs as she slams another book down on the table. I wince; I don’t want her treating my books like that. “That’s why I’m here,” she says. “Do you think I came all the way up here to chat in the middle of the night? I need answers, and you’re the only one who might have them.”

Her words, sharp as they are, strike something in me. The trust she places in me, even when she’s afraid, is staggering. She could have gone to Davina, to anyone else…but she’s here.

With me.

Mine .

Page flips through the book again, muttering to herself. The faint scent of ink on old parchment fills the air, grounding me, but there’s a sharper note beneath it that I quickly realize is her scent. I draw closer without meaning to, inhaling that delicious scent .

“Ouch!” she hisses.

I’m right at her elbow now, frowning. “What is it?”

She shakes her head in annoyance, drawing her hand up to look at her finger. “Just a paper cut,” she says. A bead of blood wells from the small cut, vivid and red. But there’s something else…

…a shimmer.

Elixir.

“Let me see,” I snap, taking her hand.

“It’s fine, Thorne, I?—”

Her protest dies as I raise her hand to my face, peering at the wound. My gaze locks on the crimson drop, the world narrowing to that single, damning point. The scent fills my lungs, the nectar of the gods, the lifeblood of planets…moving through her circulatory system, beautiful, beautiful. My hunger flares, primal and immediate, but it’s more than that.

It’s a need—a visceral, undeniable urge to claim what’s mine.

I don’t decide to move—I just do.

I lift her hand to my mouth and close my lips over the wound.

Page’s breath catches, a sound that’s less surprised than pleasured, and a rush of satisfaction pours into me, through me. Her taste floods my senses—hot, intoxicating, unbearably sweet and surprisingly complex. This isn’t like when we drank Elixir on Borealis, no…it’s a full-body experience.

A connection that suddenly makes sense to me.

Mine, mine, mine .

Page takes a step closer, now nearly flush against me. My tongue darts out to lap at the cut, both of us breathing heavily. I don’t even care about the Elixir anymore, nor about her blood; I’m going to take her, undress her, make her filthiest fantasies real? —

No. I can’t.

I stumble back, the taste of her still on my tongue, the sweetness of her blood searing through me. I know I’ve crossed a line—one that could force her to tell someone about me—but all I care about is the prospect that she won’t want to see me again. And even as I think that, I feel this horrible guilt, because she shouldn’t want to see me again. When I finally dare to look at her, I expect fear, disgust.

Instead…I see desire.

“Thorne,” she says, quiet. Her cheeks are flushed pink, red lips swollen and exquisitely kissable. “What…what was that?—”

I turn away from her, clenching my fists. Even that taste enhanced my powers, and I can hear her thoughts racing: what does this mean? I liked it, I want more, come back, I need ? —

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I shouldn’t have–”

“You’re shaking.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and when I glance back at her, she’s moved closer.

“I’m fine,” I snap, sharper than I intend. My fists clench tighter as I force myself to look away from her. The scent of her blood lingers in the air, in my mouth, on my tongue—a dangerous, maddening allure.

But she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she softens, her fear ebbing away, replaced by something more curious, more dangerous.

“You’re not fine,” she says. Her hand comes up, tentative, hovering just near my arm as if she’s afraid to touch me. “What just happened? Thorne, please.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” Her voice wavers now, a crack in her resolve. Page is normally so supremely confident that this hesitancy makes me hate myself even more than I already did. “I need to understand what’s happening to me—and what just happened with you.”

“You don’t want to understand this.” I whirl on her, the movement too fast, too close, but she doesn’t step back. Her wide, silver-grey eyes hold mine, steady despite the blush on her cheeks.

“I do,” she insists, her chin lifting defiantly. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

For a moment, I’m silent, the fight draining out of me. She’s right; I don’t get to decide for her. But if I tell her the truth, if she realizes what I’ve just discovered…

Mine .

“It’s the Elixir,” I say finally, my voice low and strained. “It’s in your blood. It’s why your powers are evolving, why they’re getting stronger. I…need to drink Elixir to survive. I’ve outlived my given time.”

“So you’re…” she trails off as she puts the pieces together. “You…you literally need to drink my blood to survive?”

“Not specifically, but it’s the only source of Elixir I’ve encountered here in the Obscuary,” I nod, shame tying knots around my heart. I want her to understand that I’m a monster…I can’t tell her there was more. That for some reason, fate sent her to me, and I’m still trying to understand what that means. “I swear on the old gods that is not why I spoke to you in the first place, though. What happened just now…it was an accident.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I brace myself for her to recoil, to pull away in disgust.

But she doesn’t.

Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching as the space between us seems to shrink. She doesn’t recoil, doesn’t flinch—and that makes it worse. I want her to run, to put as much distance as she can between herself and the monster I am. But she doesn’t .

And her voice is small and afraid as she asks, “Thorne…are you dying?”

I can’t look at her, not when the answer would change everything. I close my eyes, swallow hard, and the taste of her nearly overwhelms me again.

“Thorne, answer me.”

“In a few years, yes, if I don’t drink,” I tell her. “It’s why my people deserved to die, Page. Because our immortality was only gained at the expense of others…and of whole planets. I refused to drink, and…yes. I fled here to die.”

Her breath hitches, sharp and audible in the quiet. I see her hand move, just slightly, as if she’s about to reach for me, and the thought alone makes my chest ache.

Then she does move, taking a tentative step closer, her arm lifting?—

I step back instinctively. “You should go.”

“What?” She stops in her tracks, blinking at me in confusion. Her hand falls back to her side, and she tilts her head slightly, her grey eyes searching mine. “Thorne, I?—”

“Go,” I repeat, the firmness in my tone almost cracking under the weight of her presence. “This place isn’t safe for you. Not tonight.”

Her brow furrows, and I can see the flicker of resistance in her expression—the way her lips press together, the way she plants her feet just so, as though preparing to argue. I brace myself for it, almost hoping she’ll fight me on this, that she’ll stay.

But then she sighs, the sound soft and resigned, and her shoulders slump as she gathers her bag. “Fine,” she says quietly. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

I watch her as she turns, her steps hesitant, almost reluctant, as if she’s waiting for me to call her back. And gods, I want to. I want to tell her to stay, to let her reach for me again, to let her presence ground me the way it always does .

But I don’t.

Instead, I wait until the sound of her footsteps fades completely before letting out a shaky breath. My back presses against the edge of the table, and I grip the wood so tightly my knuckles ache. The quiet feels unbearable now, the emptiness of the room clawing at me.

Her blood, her touch, her presence—they’re all a storm I’m not sure I can weather. It’s as if she’s burrowed under my skin, her every word, every breath, leaving marks I can’t erase.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m afraid.

Not for myself.

For her.

Because if I lose control, even for a moment, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.