Solving the Vampire Murders

forty

Every moment alone with Mazia felt stolen.

Being with her was like thieving time from someone else's life. Torren had spent so much time pretending he was a better version of himself that this new part of his life didn't feel real. Like he had imagined the promise of Jay's scholarship and Mazia's belief.

After all the pain, and all the disappointments, and all the fake smiles he'd put on to seem fine when he wasn't—maybe magic was just another dream he was chasing.

He and Mazia had returned to her Ann Arbor apartment for one hour--sixty minutes of stolen bliss--before they would be separated for the evening's meeting at Medea's Sin. Torren didn't want to waste time asking Mazia silly little questions or showcasing how jealous he was of Jay.

He wanted to be present. Though, being present meant he had to push back on the constant internal chatter--the self-doubt that often clouded his ability to experience these stolen moments.

But Torren still felt like a thief of her time, of her smiles, and even of the butterflies beating in his chest.

Releasing her hand after they materialized, he wandered over to the large picture window facing the University of Michigan campus. Feeling more lost in his thoughts and apprehensions than in the moment and hating himself for it.

As if Mazia could sense his discomfort, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, chest pressed to his back, and placed a kiss to the nape of his neck. Torren closed his eyes, willing his frantic mind to quiet. He wanted to be here with her and not drowning in an ocean of thought. 

Mazia's lips trailed a line to the lobe of his ear. "You are hating me for forcing this Gift on you, no? For not giving you a choice."

Surprised, Torren twisted to face her. "No. I'm not hating you." He stroked the side of her cheek. "I'm hating myself for not being worthy of it."

Torren rubbed his thumb across her cheek again, losing himself in the depths of her honey brown eyes. The hint of a smile grazed her lips.

A stolen smile that felt like it was meant for him.

Mazia inched forward, cupping the side of his face. Torren smiled into her palm, trying his best to push down the guilt and pain threatening to bubble up.

"I am hoping you don't truly believe that," Mazia said, cradling the back of his neck with her hands and pulling his face even closer to hers. The scent of her intoxicating perfume slowly undoing his thoughts. "You are worthy of magic."

Mazia's nose brushed against his, and the stolen butterflies in his chest beat harder. "And you are worthy of love."

If it wasn't an automatic process, Torren might've forgotten to breathe. These words couldn't be meant for him--but somehow they were. Mazia's voice was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard--like a perfectly tuned chord or an orchestra playing a swelling climax, each haunting note more thrilling than the last. Her breath was on his face—her scent on his clothes.

Every inch of him was lit with energy—a smoldering flame refusing to burn low. "What are we?" Torren asked gently. Unwilling to move, but needing to know. "What is this?"

Mazia leaned in and pressed her lips to his, and the world went silent. Her kiss slow. Tentative. Torren savored the taste of her. Listened to the little way she sighed in between kisses.

If this feeling was meant for someone else, then maybe he'd need to become a vigilante.

Torren's hands drifted to her neck, her waist, the curve of her hip. Mazia's hands wandered up his shirt, nails gliding over his thin t-shirt. Before he knew what he was doing, Torren was walking with her. Moving by memory towards the low velvet couch. They tipped backward together, bodies pressed together on the plush cushions. Giggling in between breathless kisses. His lips left hers in bursts, trailed down her jawline, along her neck. Each one stolen. Each one precious.