Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,188

unhurried, even though I can feel the weight of eyes on us. I twist my hands into his jacket and welcome the wash of his eager breath as the tension slides from his body.

When I pull away, his eyes are lidded and dark, thumbs rubbing warmly against my cheeks. “Let him fix it,” I say, giving his jacket a soft tug, “and you’ll be the only one I go to.”

“Oh.” He gives me a slow, dazed blink. “Okay.”

I don’t last long in my dorm room.

Part of it is that my hair is wet from my shower and I’m still shivering, even buried under a pile of blankets. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I’m back in that lake, thrashing around through a gaping maw that’s ready to swallow me whole.

Another part is the way Heston had looked at me when we separated at the Devil’s tower an hour ago, expression carefully void of anything but a polite scrunch of his mouth.

Josie isn’t back from the celebration yet, so it’s easy to sneak out, hefting my bag over my shoulder. I’d think I’d be immune to the chill in the air by now, but I’m not. It feels like I’ve taken a bit of that lake back with me and it’ll always be nestled inside my bones, my marrow turned forever to ice. Briefly, I wonder if he feels the same, worries that he’ll never feel completely warm again.

When I get to his stoop, I consider asking him, but the sight of him when he opens the door steals the words from my throat.

He looks exactly the same as when I’d left him—jacket and shoes and all. The only difference is the way his eyes take me in, pupils blown wide.

I adjust the weight of my bag, still shivering into the wind. “I was just…” Taking a walk? Wandered off and found myself here? Wanting to see if your bed makes me feel any less like I’m drowning?

Luckily, he doesn’t make me finish, taking a step back so I can shuffle past him.

The inside of his apartment is somehow colder.

My eyes take in the space, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as I’m hit with the memory of tearing everything apart. The living room looks like it’s been tidied hastily, everything from the floor piled onto the nearest flat surface. But the kitchen looks exactly as it had that night, cabinets pulled open and torn apart.

Heston follows my gaze, reaching up to push his hair back. “I haven’t come here much,” he says, rough voice shattering the silence.

“You live here.” It’s a pointless comment, made more apparent by the slow, tired blink he gives me.

His movements are stiff and mechanical as he finally slips out of his jacket. “I guess.”

It doesn’t answer the question I can’t bring myself to ask. I don’t have the right, and god only knows I’m the one more likely to have a dissatisfying answer.

My eyes stutter on the orange bottles of pills on the coffee table. It’s rude of me—invasive and unfair—but I find myself drawn to them, bending to pluck one up and inspect the label.

Heston clears his throat. “It’s nothing. I have this dumb stomach ulcer.” When I put it down, only to pick up another, he explains, “Just some antibiotics and acid blockers.”

Gently, I place the bottle down, asking, “Is it helping?”

He lifts a shoulder, looking bored. “Maybe. It’s only been a few days.”

Nodding, I look around, feeling awkward and out of sorts. This isn’t how it’s ever worked with us. Usually, things unfold easily—naturally—in a way that I may have taken for granted. For a moment, I consider asking if it’s okay for me to be here.

But his voice stops me. “Do you need it?”

I turn to him slowly, hoping that I’ll have an answer by the time I meet his gaze. In the end, I find it difficult to be anything but honest. “Yes.” My answer comes out solemn and quiet; a confession that makes my shoulders tense to hear said aloud.

There’s a spark of relief in his eyes, and I realize what he wants to know even before he reaches up to ruffle the back of his hair, eyes sliding away. “How long have you…uh…”

“Needed it?” It’s not often Heston beats around the bush. I’m not sure I like it. “Since that night I left Underworld, I guess.” Up late into the nights, seeking relief from my own hand. Sitting in class, thinking of his