"Thank you. I'm sorry about that thing earlier, I didn't mean to—"
"Jess. Listen."
Reive sat beside her on the couch. He was so close, she could almost feel his body heat. She found herself leaning toward him without meaning to, like a flower toward the sun.
"Stop apologizing for occasionally mentioning that you've had a rough life," he said gently. "I want to know about your life—I mean, whatever parts of it you want to tell me about. And some of it's going to be messy, and some of it you might be angry or sad about. That's okay. It's what makes you, well ..." He shrugged and smiled. "Human."
Up until that point she had been blossoming, but he couldn't have done more to dump a bucket of ice water over her burgeoning libido if he'd tried.
Human. Except she wasn't.
And dragons and gargoyles were enemies.
"I need to concentrate on this," she said, and Reive just nodded and got up from the couch.
She was still very aware of him, far more than she wanted to be, as he moved around the suite. Water ran in the bathroom. Then it was quiet for a bit, and she thought maybe he'd decided to take a nap.
The drink was hitting her hard, in a way she found pleasant. Usually she had an extremely high alcohol tolerance, which probably went along with the gargoyle thing. But on an empty stomach and almost no sleep, she was slightly buzzed, a light floating feeling that helped contribute to the sense that she'd stepped completely out of her ordinary world.
"Jess," Reive said softly, and she looked around. He was at the window. "Come here. There's something I think you'd like to see."
Jess got up, and had to grab onto the back of the couch. She definitely wasn't drunk, but ... yeah, wow, probably better think about getting some room service soon.
She went to join Reive at the window. He moved aside to let her in.
The clear light earlier in the day had grown soft and gold, casting long shadows across the rooftops of the city. In this light, everything was soft-edged and pastel, a patchwork painting of gold and cream and pink and orange.
It was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.
"This is gorgeous," she breathed softly.
"I thought you'd like it. There's nothing quite like a city at sunset."
He was gazing out at it raptly, and she found herself just as caught up in the golden light on his face, outlining his long lashes and softening the sharp line of his jaw.
"Jess?" he said, turning toward her.
It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and kiss him.
He kissed back warmly, eagerly. If there had been any doubt in her mind that he, too, felt the attraction thrumming between them, there was no doubt now. He was a skilled kisser, and all rational thought fled as she leaned into him, pressing against his leather-clad torso. As their kisses grew more frantic and heated, his hand tangled in her hair and dragged strands out of their braid. The heavy motorcycle jacket was in the way now. She began to fumble with its zipper, not really thinking about anything except wanting to get closer, to feel more of him.
And then he broke the kiss, jerking back with a soft gasp. His hair was tousled, his lips parted and eyes blown wide with need, but his face had paled under his tan.
"Reive, what is it? Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine." He started to raise a hand to touch his right shoulder, then lowered it quickly. "I ... don't think this is a good idea."
"Reive, look, whatever is wrong with you, you can tell me. If we have to be careful, we can be careful."
But he was already taking a step back, regaining some distance. "This isn't a good idea."
"Fine," Jess said, hurt. Maybe he was right anyway; there was only heartache that way.
Gargoyles and dragons are enemies.
"Jess, listen—"
"I need to work on the translations," she interrupted, turning away from the gorgeous view and his too-tempting face and body. "Maybe I'll order room service before we both pass out drunk. Do you want anything?"
"No," he said quietly, standing there at the window. The sun slipped behind the buildings, and now his face was in shadow. "No, I'm fine. I'm sorry about that."
"Why are you apologizing? I kissed you. Reive ..."
But he went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Great, she thought. I have no idea what just happened there.
She went back to the couch and her work, but she shuffled the papers absently without seeing them. She kept thinking about the way he'd jerked away when she touched his arm, pain written clearly across his face.
A friend of yours, huh?
Oh, Reive.
She was starting to have a suspicion about Reive's "friend." About the dark mottling on his dragon form. About the nature of what she had suspected at first was a disability and then an illness.
And if her suspicions and theories were true, she could never, ever trust herself to touch him—or anyone else, not ever again.
Reive
Reive woke alone in his regrettably Jess-free bed, with early morning sunshine slanting across the pillow. Lying still, he could hear soft sounds from the main room of the suite, the sound of someone clinking and moving about. At first he tensed in alarm, but then he relaxed as he recognized that it was only Jess, and she didn't sound worried. She was humming softly to herself under her breath.
If only she was here, soft and warm against him. He ached for her—literally ached; his arm was numb this morning for the most part, but there was a bone-deep pain around the shoulder. He couldn't help thinking of how much less it seemed to hurt when Jess was touching him. Maybe it was only that he hadn't been touched like that in so long; the pleasant sensations overrode the pain.
Yesterday, he'd almost gotten carried away with how good it felt. How good she felt. He had almost let her see his arm, and what was clearly no ordinary human illness, but the gradual petrification of his flesh and bone.
What are you doing? he scolded himself. You can't get involved with this woman. She's a human, she's not your mate, and she's already putting herself in enough danger to help you.
Also ... there was, lurking in the back of his mind, the awareness that if this didn't work, he had no business getting involved with anyone, human or not, mate or not, because the stone was going to consume him.
He sat up and took a look at his arm in the morning light. The rate of petrification seemed to be accelerating. It had taken months for the first stone patches to show up, and weeks more for them to noticeably start to spread.
Now, in just a couple of days, his arm had gone from a patchwork of separate stone patches, to becoming almost entirely stone from shoulder to fingers. He could still awkwardly move and bend it, but it was extremely stiff, and the fingers were so clumsy that he could no longer pick anything up. Yesterday, checking into the hotel, he'd had to scrawl his name with his left hand.
Of course, he would be right-handed. This was going to be hard to conceal from Jess.
The only small silver lining was that it hurt less. The pain now was mainly around his shoulder, where his arm joined to his body, and in his hand, which was still in the process of transforming. The fact that he hadn't completely lost the ability to move his arm made him think that it wasn't finished changing yet, down at the level of muscles and bones.