Snowflakes by Julianne Olson

Author:Julianne Olson [Olson, Julianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

“No!” He cried. “That’s for me! Empress!”

I ate a spoonful. “Oh! What was I thinking, only bringing down one cup?” I appraised it. Who knew a plastic cup could contain such deliciousness? Meghan had outdone herself.

The Dungeon Keeper relaxed his chains enough that he slumped to the floor. I hadn’t noticed his legs were shaking until he hit the floor. Exhaustion carved into him. The shackles gouged his skin. They left brands that he would sport the next time he left for the games. He needed to get out of this place.

“I’m sorry,” I said. He had nothing to say to that. He was sorry, too.

We finished the remainder of the cup together. When we had scraped out the contents and longed for more, when we were pressed together, leg to leg, side to side, we released twin sighs. My head dropped toward him. He stiffened. I slid onto his lap, hands folded under my head.

“You don’t have to be so nervous. There is nothing you can do to harm me.”

He rested the back of his head on the wall. “Is that what you think?” He whispered finally. I felt the muscles surging in his legs; the flex of muscle straining against the fabric. It was thrilling, being that near to the beast. He swallowed. “These chains – I could break them as easily as if they were wax. I could tear the metal from the walls. I could rip you apart from everything you are.”

I clasped a hand to his jiggling knee. “That’s all very well, but stop moving. You’re disturbing me.”

He snorted. Yet he stopped moving. I snuggled into his warmth. Boys seemed to possess higher body temperatures than girls. There was something about them that heated their skin.

His heat soaked into me, coating all the snowflakes shivering in my veins, and ushered me toward the dark lands. Sleep, it prompted. Sleep. I did not want to sleep. I did not want to go to the Nebula. I wanted peace.

I drifted into an in between state, perhaps better than either option. The boy I used as a pillow never relaxed. His muscles remained harder than rocks under me. He never moved, not once. His gaze strayed over me. He moaned. “Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he groaned to me. I curled an arm around his waist. There is something so huggable about boys. I craved the touch of him. The severity of his muscles under my hands. The definition of his arms, the strain of his neck, the scoop of his ear.

I drifted farther out of consciousness, into a quiet place. But not so far that I lost the moment when he lifted his hand from the floor. Tentative fingers drifted over my tumbleweed curls. They pushed deeper, knotting into the tangle. He cradled my head. A shudder racked his frame for a moment.

Once, I had been a girl standing in a foreign land. There was a boy with the universe in his eyes. Misery pierced his soul. Remorse followed the black curl of his lashes.

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