Page 19 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

19

THORNE

T he silence between us is unbearable.

Not the absence of her voice—no, she’s still talking, asking questions, debating theories, and teasing me with the occasional jab. But this…it’s so much worse than actual silence.

It’s the silence in my mind, the absence of her presence brushing against my thoughts.

Page is keeping me out.

I’ve told her to do this repeatedly, urged her to shield herself from me, to block me out for her own sake. I’ve complained that her thoughts were too loud, that they were a distraction. She was always so open, so unguarded, and I thought I wanted her to stop.

I should be relieved.

But I’m not.

The distance feels wrong. Unnatural. Especially since that kiss…

I thought things would change after that. I thought she would keep pressing as she always does, questioning, pushing boundaries, digging for more. But instead, she’s held me at arm’s length. She’s withdrawn—not from our work, but from me .

We continue to meet, our routine unchanged on the surface. She practices her telekinesis, asks about Borean history with relentless curiosity, never hesitates to argue when she disagrees. But the connection we once shared, that invisible thread linking us—it’s quiet.

It’s still there, but aching with the absence of her.

Maybe she’s pulling away, as she should have a long time ago. Maybe she’s met someone. All I know is that I know nothing…and I hate it.

Today, she seems to be feeding off of my energy, because she’s irate as we get to work for the day. Page is more tense than usual, her frustration simmering just below the surface. She’s testy from the beginning of our conversation—a debate over the nuances of Borean script. She’s learning fast, but her insistence that she can form the characters in shorthand is getting frustrating.

Her brow furrows as she flips through her notebook, her pen scribbling furiously as she jots down my corrections. “It’s not shorthand,” she snaps. “It’s efficient.”

“It’s incorrect,” I counter. I glance at her notes and point to a character she’s mangled into something almost unrecognizable. “That curve at the end completely changes the meaning. You’re not writing ‘honor,’ Page, you’re writing ‘burden’.”

Her hand tightens around the pen, but she doesn’t look up. “Maybe burden fits better, considering how obnoxiously complicated this language is.”

“You’re the one who wanted to learn it,” I point out. “If it’s too much, we can always move on to something simpler. Perhaps Merati nursery rhymes.”

Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. She’s looking for a fight—I can see it, feel it simmering beneath the surface .

“Nursery rhymes?” she repeats.

“They have a certain charm,” I say evenly. “And I doubt you could get them wrong.”

Her jaw tightens, her expression caught somewhere between a glare and a disbelieving smile. For a moment, it seems like she’s going to let it go.

But then she lets out an exasperated laugh, shaking her head. “You know, for being a cranky old man, you really excel at being immature.”

“And for someone so young, you excel at overreacting,” I quip, refusing to let her have the last word. It’s not just the words themselves; it’s the way she bristles, the way I can feel the argument building between us even in the quiet of her mind. “This is about precision, Page. You can’t just slap a curve wherever it suits you.”

“It’s not about—” she stops herself. Her lips press together and she exhales sharply, flipping to a new page in her notebook with enough force to nearly tear it out. “This isn’t even necessary.”

Ashlan shudders in the corner, his antennae twitching as he picks up on the rising tension. The lumivix lets out a soft, half-asleep grumble, shifting uneasily on the armrest of my chair before curling back up.

Even he can sense it.

This isn’t about the writing exercise at all.

“I’m starting to wonder if your translator has made you lazy,” I murmur.

Page freezes for a second, her shoulders stiffening, and I know she’s cooking up a response that will make me regret saying that.

But then she sighs, leaning back in her chair. “You know…speaking of my translator…if I could just get you out of the damn library, over to my place, maybe you could uplo ad language details to my translator. Would that really be so bad?”

I look back at her from where I’ve paced to the other side of the table. “I don’t leave the library,” I mutter.

“Oh, trust me,” she says. “I’m aware.”

There’s venom in her words, but it’s not what gets to me. It’s the way her voice falters, just slightly, the way her frustration seems to crack at the edges.

And there’s a flash of her thoughts…memory of the kiss, and then…disappointment?

I fix my gaze on her, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the tension pulling at her shoulders, the way her hand clenches her pen just a little too tightly.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, “it would make things easier. For both of us.”

“It’s not that simple,” I reply.

She shakes her head. “Nothing ever is with you.”

Her words linger, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.

Yes, she’s hiding something from me.

I cock my head at her, narrowing my eyes. First, the dreams…then, her reaction to when she cut her finger, then the kiss. And now this. This petulance, this distance, the way she twists every conversation into a fight.

It’s usually easy to forget she’s only twenty-five—a tiny fraction of my lifespan—but not today.

I cross my arms and keep staring at her, only catching her attention after a moment.

“Page,” I say, “if this is some kind of human code that I’ve upset you, I must remind you I’m not human?—”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

I arch a brow. “I’ve been told, by you, on multiple occasions.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to let it go. I want something to change—for her to tell me what’s wrong, or for her to decide she isn’t angry at me anymore.

But then she slams her pen down on the table, the sound echoing all around my alcove.

Ashlan jolts up from the armrest of my chair, wide awake and antennae flaring. Page would usually apologize to the little lumivix—never to me—but she doesn’t even seem to notice him.

No, her focus is entirely on me.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” she demands, standing abruptly.

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum over handwriting.”

“This isn’t about the damn handwriting!” she growls. Her hands clench at her sides, her breathing uneven. She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if searching for what to say next, then she puts her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to save your life,” she says, as if it should have been obvious. “I’m trying to get you out of the Obscuary .”

I stand in shocked silence for a moment, caught off-guard by her outburst.

“Save my life?” I repeat.

“Yes,” she snaps. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then I feel it, just slightly…pain. She’s hurting. She’s worried. “You’re wasting away in here, Thorne. You refuse to leave, you refuse to take what you need, and you’re just…giving up! And I should be focused on my research, and instead, I’m more and more interested in making sure you actually survive.”

What I need?

Gods…she’s talking about her blood.

She’s angry at me for refusing to drink her blood again.

I stare at her, disbelieving and more than a little frustrated. “And what exactly do you think you can do, Page? I’ve been alive for thousands of years—I’ve had my time. You shouldn’t waste your energy on an old ghost who isn’t even worth saving.”

She looks at me, stunned, as if I’ve just slapped her. Again, I think she’ll back down.

“But I…” she starts, her voice faltering.

I step closer, narrowing my eyes. “You what?”

She swallows hard, her lips parting as though the words are caught somewhere between her throat and her pride.

“I have so many things to ask you,” she finally blurts out. “ So much to learn from you.”

“Ah.” I bark out a bitter laugh. “So that’s it. I’m just an encyclopedia for you then, right? A relic to be studied before I’m gone? You want me to teach you all I know, even if I’m prepared to die.”

Her eyes light with anger—with passion—silver swirling in her grey irises. Before I can stop her, she takes a big step forward.

We’re face to face now, her breath against my skin. I don’t move. I can’t back down…and I want, desperately, to be close to her.

“No, you fucking idiot,” she snarls, voice trembling. “I don’t want you to teach me. I don’t want your lectures or your lessons or your history. Not anymore.”

Her hands twitch at her sides as if she’s barely holding herself from touching me. I can feel her frustration crackling between us, mingling with mine.

And her voice is a whisper when she says, “I just want you .”

She doesn’t flinch . Doesn’t show any sign of regretting what she said. Her eyes lock onto mine, daring me to look away, to dismiss her, to do anything but acknowledge the truth hanging in the air between us.

I can’t move.

I can’t speak .

All I can do is stand there, the words replaying in my mind over and over again.

I just want you .

It takes me a moment for the meaning to fully sink in, for the weight of her admission to wrap around me like a vice. Suddenly, I can’t breathe; this is too heavy.

I’ve shown so much restraint, and it’s done no good.

Because, on some level, I know fate has a hand in this.

“Page,” I start—but then she growls and stalks in one direction, then another. She’s ranting now, pacing.

“Thorne, I kissed you,” she says. “And I know you don’t understand stupid human customs, but that’s a risk. I took that risk, and I thought…I don’t know, I thought you kissing me back meant things would change. Then, they didn’t, and I’ve been looking into how to help you and you just…you don’t even care, do you?”

Her voice cracks. I try to respond, but she’s not done.

“Jesus, Thorne…” She shakes her head. “You’re so busy wallowing in your self-loathing, in your…your martyrdom, that you can’t bother with me!”

“No,” I interrupt. “I see plenty, Page. I see someone who is too young and too human to understand what they’re saying.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps. “Don’t you dare talk down to me like that. I know exactly what I’m saying. I know exactly what I feel.”

She may as well have physically hit me, her words are so forceful. There’s no hesitation, no trace of doubt.

It terrifies me.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I growl.

But I’m not moving away. I can’t. Her gravity is too powerful, impossible to resist.

“Maybe not,” she admits. “But I know what I want.”

I shake my head, trying to find the words to stop this, to stop her…but nothing comes to mind. The only thing I can truly hear is her thoughts, and they’re chanting, pulsing with a single word.

A word that won’t leave me be.

Mine.

Mine .

I don’t know if it’s because I drank her blood—if it was some kind of twisted Elixir ceremony, a mingling of Elixir and our DNA—but I think I’ve known it since long before that. Since she first stumbled into the Obscuary.

This human woman, born more than four millennia after I was…I was born for her, and she for me.

“I don’t care how old you are,” Page says. “I don’t care what you think you are. You’re not a monster, Thorne. You’re just…you. And I. Want. You .”

Her words burn through every wall I’ve built around myself, every barrier I placed between us, every excuse I’ve made.

I can’t deny her any longer.

Without a word, my hands shoot out and grab her by the shoulders, my whole body shaking as I walk her backward. Her steps falter as the edge of the desk catches her, but she doesn’t resist. Page’s breath hitches as she looks up at me, eyes wide.

“Thorne…” she starts.

“Let me in, Page,” I growl. “Don’t hide it. Don’t hold back. Show me.”

For a heartbeat, she hesitates.

Then, something shifts in her expression.

The floodgates open, and I see everything.

Her thoughts slam into me, overwhelming and unrelenting. The way she’s pivoted from her research, to studying me— the books she’s read, the people she’s talked to, the strange questions she’s asking. Finding a way to help me, to save me .

And the dreams…oh gods, the dreams .

I see flashes of them: her hands on me, my mouth on her, the two of us tangled together in scenes of complete and utter surrender. Heat and longing and the kind of intimacy that should terrify me.

She doesn’t regret the kiss…she hasn’t met someone.

She’s been trying to hide her feelings for me.

And now I know—and I’m never letting her go.

I’m already kissing her, not knowing when it started, when my arms wrap around her to pull her close. She slants her mouth against mine as I lift her onto the desk, her arms coming around my neck.

I devour her mouth, my restraint shattered, obliterated . There’s no holding back now—not after everything I just saw in her mind, not after everything I’ve felt. Her hands slide into my hair, anchoring me to her as I pull away only to trail kisses down her neck. I could bite; she’s expecting me to, screaming for me to do it in her mind, because she wants so very badly to save me…but I don’t want to.

Because I realize now it wasn’t the Elixir in her blood that drew me to her. It was never about the Elixir.

It was always her. Always just Page.

The Elixir, her powers, everything else…it was incidental.

She’s the reason my world cracked open. The reason I’m beginning to feel lonely.

Because I need her .

As I kiss her, as I learn her and touch her and feel her mind intertwine with mine, it becomes clear that this contact is essential to my survival. She gasps, jerking against me as I send my own thoughts into her head…thoughts of all the things I want to do to her, with her. My hands, still on her hips, jerk her toward me so she can feel me—my cock straining against my pants, desperate for her. “You say I can’t bother with you,” I growl, “but I can’t resist you. Do you feel what you do to me?”

She boldly reaches down and shocks me when she wraps her fingers around my shaft. I buck into her hand, Page stroking me through too much fabric, too many layers. “Oh fuck?—”

“You have driven me to madness.” I’m whispering the words between wet, hungry kisses, my hands gripping her ass, trying to keep her close. “Look into my mind, see how much I’ve wanted you.”

I feel her touch my psyche, dive in. I rest my forehead against hers and cling to her as she explores, the first true glimpse she’s gotten.

Watching her in the library, feeling her against me for the first time, kissing her . Imagining her here, bent over the desk…tasting her, teasing her, touching every alien piece of her exactly how she likes to be touched. Forcing myself to stay calm, to remind myself that I don’t deserve her, when I want nothing more than to bury my cock inside her and fuck her until she can hardly walk…

I squeeze my eyes shut, the intermingling of our thoughts nearly enough to make me forget about a lifetime of horror.

But I somehow manage to pull away, snatch her hands from where she’s touching me, grasp them tight.

Put them between us as we both breathe hard.

“And this…this is why we need to slow down,” I rasp.

She looks into my eyes, silver swirling in her irises. The telekinesis…I wonder if it was because of our proximity. If her powers are getting stronger because I drank from her.

Because Elixir bonds, even the smallest amount, can work strange magic.

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, shaking her head. “Thorne, I want—I need you to fuck me. ”

I hiss out a breath, holding her at bay. “No,” I bite out. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

I lift one hand to take her chin, tilting her face toward me. “Page, listen to me,” I tell her. “The connection between us…it can muddle your thoughts. I need to know this desire is yours, so you have to wait . Because I can’t…I can’t take that from you, knowing I may have influenced you.”

I fully expect her to storm out; she’s in the kind of mood that lends itself to strong reactions, and I’ve refused to give her something she wants.

But she takes a deeper breath, even if she shudders on the exhale…

…then she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “But…can I stay?”

I breathe a sigh of relief, resting my forehead against hers again. “Gods, yes,” I murmur. “Of course. I want…we should talk.”

She smiles, then, and it’s like the sun breaking through a thundercloud.

“Finally,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for you to suggest that.”