Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story by Alyson Santos

Author:Alyson Santos [Santos, Alyson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 43583477
Published: 2019-04-24T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen:

Perfection

Loneliness. There’s a word I know well and completely misunderstood. In life and in death I was alone, but it’s not until you miss the thing standing right in front of you that you truly understand it’s destructive power. Every second with Rachel feels like a treasure now. Beautiful and heavy and a gift I want to burn into the fabric of my being to draw upon when she’s gone. Because she is gone, even when she’s dancing around me to the imaginary song in her head.

I adjust my position seated on the trunk, watching with sad wonder as she spins around the basement, giggling to herself like yesterday’s bombshell never happened.

“Come on!” She swipes for my hand as she passes, missing badly.

I shake my head with a smirk, much preferring the view from here. I’m already capturing every detail for a later sketch.

She stops and levels a hand on her hip. “You’ve been so broody since yesterday.”

“I have good reason,” I point out, but she’s not impressed.

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Yeah… everything’s changed.”

“Says the ghost boy. If anyone should be sulking, it’s me. I’m the one with a dead boyfriend.”

I laugh. Can’t help it. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“Less cheesy than soulmate, I suppose.” She grabs my hands with conviction.

I let her pull me up this time, and soon I’m chasing her around the basement in whatever this weird uncoordinated game is.

“This isn’t dancing so much as skipping around like forest nymphs,” I say.

She barely slows her frolic to toss me a glare. “Right. Because you know so much about forest nymphs?”

I shrug. “I am the prince of the spirit world after all.”

She snorts a laugh. “You are not. You can’t even leave your basement.”

“Fine, a captive prince then.”

“Waiting for a princess to come save you?”

“Maybe. Depends.” I grab her mid-twirl and pull her into me.

Her breath is rapid while I stare her down.

“Depends on what?” she asks. I can’t tear my eyes away from her lips. Deep red arches slightly curved up—in humor or invitation? My finger considers them slowly.

“On the princess,” I say finally, my own mouth turning up in another smirk, and she shoves me. It’s not hard enough to push me away; just to force a perfect collision when I swing back and capture her again. Her arms coil around my waist, aligning our bodies. Once she’s satisfied, her hands slip under my shirt and climb my back until her fingers sink into my shoulders. It’s an instinctive reaction, the way my muscles harden in response. Even better is the way her eyes change when she senses it, radiating primal hunger. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, right where I want mine, and this dance, yes. This one I want.

I thread my fingers in her hair, tugging until she releases a pleased gasp.

“Milo…”

I love when she says my name like that. The sea-breeze-ocean chime that resonates through my body. Lock that away. Preserve it for the infinite song you’ll write when that’s all you have left.

I shake away the thought.

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