Page 19 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)
S hade lay stretched out beside Emmery, his ankles crossed, fingers drumming his chest to a tune only he could hear. “I don’t remember what it’s like to dream,” he mused.
Emmery studied his strong, nimble fingers.
At least from what she could see through the damn distorting mist. Gods, he seemed familiar, but she remembered nothing about his dark, phantom-like appearance.
Was this truly not the first time they had met?
Deep down, somehow, she believed it to be true.
Either way, laying here with him certainly beat drowning in that river.
Tonight, too exhausted to imagine anything, Emmery opted for the nothingness of the Divide. The silent darkness was like a mirror of death—the peace of absence.
“Sure you do,” she argued. “You’re dreaming right now.”
His green eyes fixed on her, a smirk tilting his mouth. “This is your dream, remember? I’m merely visiting.”
“It’s still a dream though, whether it’s yours or mine.” Emmery’s gaze dropped to his lips. “Although I do have an overactive imagination.”
“What do you mean?” Shade gestured to the Divide. “We’re literally lying in the darkness. I would hardly call this overactive. Surely you can be a tad more creative.”
She shoved him, her hands dipping into the mist. “I meant dreaming up a person to keep me company. I must be really desperate.”
“Very funny.” Shade narrowed his eyes. “I already told you I’m real. We’re here together. You’re not dreaming me up.”
“Sounds like something I’d make you say.” Emmery shook her head. “You’re too nice to me. Too polite. Considerate. No man is like that.”
“How can I convince you?” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Shade drew his bottom lip between his teeth. “Dream sex, perhaps?”
Emmery sputtered into a laugh, pushing up onto her elbows. “What would be the point? I can’t feel you. You can’t feel me. Plus, I doubt you have the right equipment under that mist.”
“Well, we could give it a go.” A wicked grin. “I’m up for it if you are.”
That grin made her so weak, her cheeks heated but she bit back a tiny smile. “Good to know you have a one-track mind like most men.”
His eyes twinkled with sinful delight. “Can you blame me for trying?”
Emmery stood, smoothing her forest-green dress.
It was far more luxurious than anything she owned in her lifetime but why not spoil herself?
Imagination was free. The modest garment covered from wrist to ankle but from the way Shade’s ravenous gaze followed her curves, she may as well have been naked.
His lips parted and he lifted his eyes to meet hers.
“It’s rude to stare.” She frowned. “Especially like you’re mentally undressing me.”
Shade smiled. “It’s hard not to.”
“Well”—Emmery narrowed her eyes, though she bit back a grin—“try harder.”
He stood, closing the distance between them and cupped her face. His thumb gently swept her cheek, and it flushed under his touch.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he whispered, his voice suede and darkness and sin.
She frowned up at him, tilting her head to the side. “Wouldn't what?”
His hand shifted to the back of her neck. “Hide from me.”
Emmery had carefully hidden her birthmark in the dream, and when she’d caught sight of her face in the dark waters, she smiled. This was what she should look like. Unblemished, untainted—normal.
“I’m not hiding,” she argued. “I’m merely glossing over the messy parts.”
“Never hide your face, Emmery.” Shade gave her a sad smile and spoke on a hushed breath. “The stars themselves should be jealous of beauty like yours.”
The flush travelled down her neck, and she stared up at him, his hand cradling the back of her head. “Do you use that line on all the women you meet?”
He looked at her like the sun rose and set only for her. “Only the important ones.”
The edges of the dream blurred like fog settling over a warm lake and Emmery’s chest tightened.
Not yet. She wanted to beg the Divide for more time— minutes or hours or forever—and she sure wasn’t ready to face the morning now that their time was over. Something about Shade gave her a safety that didn’t exist in the waking world. She couldn’t explain it.
“If only you had narcolepsy,” Shade murmured, huffing a laugh. Their stares met, gold crashing into green, as the walls of the dream frayed, curling like parchment held over fire. “Because I miss you. All the time, really.”
Her heart ached because if what he said was true, she would never truly meet him. If he was real at all. But this interaction felt real—or maybe, she just wanted to believe it was. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I wish I could.”
All sides of the Divide shrank, a cube folding in on itself, as her consciousness faded.
“I know this is difficult for you,” he said, voice hoarse, pain and heartbreak speared in the words. “You don’t remember me, and I know everything about you. It’s unfair. But just know”—his throat worked — “it’s hard for me too.”
His admission sank into her and Emmery blinked, trying to process it. Trying to decide how she felt.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could offer as guilt devoured her from the inside. He went through this each night like she suffered from some memory stealing sickness. The patience that must take ... why did he bother?
“Don’t be sorry. Being here with you is enough.” His stare caressed her lips, and it was almost like she could feel that touch as their forms drifted, unravelling into the night, their souls returning to their cages of flesh and bone. “Emmery?”
Her heart fluttered, wings flapping against her ribcage like it wanted to spring free and find its home in his hands. And gods, the way he spoke her name was like those few measly letters strung together were the only ones that mattered. Like it only held meaning when he said it. “Yes, Shade?”
“Try to remember me.” A doleful plea. “Please.”
“I want to. There’s nothing I want more.” A sob rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “But I—I don’t know how.”
Because if she did, she would never leave.
Emmery wasn’t ready to give up this dream, yet the morning sun called her away, beckoning like a shrill bell, an inescapable hand gripping her wrist and yanking her into the light. But didn’t it know she favoured the darkness of his embrace?
“It’s alright,” he assured. Shade pulled her to his chest, and she let herself lean into his strength, trying to soak up any morsel of him she could hold inside her. To bottle this feeling. “I’ll remember for the both of us. ”