Henry Franks A Novel - By Peter Adam Salomon Page 0,31

in her hand and slipped away as he backed up to his bed. He sat, hunched over and rocking back and forth.

“Breathe,” he said.

She was on her feet in front of him, her fingers on his arm.

“Henry?” She took his hand and squeezed it between both of hers.

He shuddered at the touch, then looked up at her from behind his hair. A thin trail of blood leaked from his nose, staining his lips a violent shade of red. He smiled at her touch.

“The medicine,” he said, barely a whisper, reaching a hand to his nose.

“It’s all right, Henry.” She wiped his face off with the bed sheet, pressing her palm against his cheek as her fingers ran over his skin. She sank to the floor in front of him and reached out to him. His head rested against her shoulder as she hugged him.

He rocked in her embrace, whispering “Breathe” over and over into her neck.

When he opened his eyes, he watched the pulse in her throat beat in time with his. Sweat glistened on her skin, so very close, and with each deep breath he inhaled her, sweet and feminine and intoxicating. Her fingers ran up and down his back, warm and comforting, and her head rested lightly on his. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember his name and didn’t care.

He shifted his head a little to the side in order to close the short distance between his lips and her neck and, before he could change his mind, kissed her.

Her hands froze and her breathing stopped. Fingertips flexed against his back, catching his shirt up in her fist as she stretched against him.

He kissed her throat again, right where the blood pulsed beneath her skin.

“Henry,” she said, the words spoken into his hair, her lips moving against his scalp.

Outside his window, the sun dipped far enough beneath the tree line to darken the room.

“Walk me home?”

He turned his neck enough to look up at her. “You live next door, you know?”

She smiled, then pushed herself up until she was standing in front of him. He grabbed her hand and stood, then spread his arms and she melted into him.

He tilted his head and looked down at her.

She tilted her head and looked up at him, her honey eyes barely open.

“Justine—” he said.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet.”

“Sorry,” she said, and the heat of her breath brushed against his lips. “You talk too much.”

Just as they were about to touch, she smiled.

He closed his eyes and kissed her smile.

Justine held his hand as he walked her home. Crickets and frogs, loud in the marshes surrounding the street, accompanied them. The moon had yet to rise and the scattered streetlights fought to penetrate the trees, leaving dappled shadows on the ground. The sun had taken most of the heat with it when it had fallen beneath the horizon.

Justine’s mother poked her head out the door and looked down to where her daughter held Henry’s hand.

“Almost feels as though we’re being watched,” Justine said, releasing his hand.

“You must be Henry,” her mother said.

“Hello, Mrs. Edwards.” He reached out a hand but she didn’t move. After too long a time, she shook his offered hand.

“Just friends?” she asked her daughter, then sighed. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”

“Good night,” Justine said before closing the door, flashing him a quick grin before she disappeared from view with her mother.

Henry stood there, staring at her door after she went inside. He turned around with a smile across his face. The memory of their kiss was still fresh and her lip-gloss was a faint sweetness when he licked his lips. In the distance, heat lightning flashed, casting shadows up and down the street. Thunder rolled and left silence in its wake, the crickets and frogs deathly quiet. The slight breeze that had carried the scent of the Atlantic across the island calmed, leaving the air empty and still. The porch stairs of her house creaked with each step.

A cat screeched down the street and a dog barked in reply. Ozone tickled his nose as another flash of lightning stabbed into the ground somewhere nearby. Thunder hit bass notes deep in the pit of his stomach and he picked up his pace.

A dry branch broke in the shadows as the moon forced its way through the clouds. The back of his neck tingled and he whipped around, thinking Justine had run after him, but there was no one there. Hissing, too close for comfort, floated on the