most certainly will not,” Scarlet says, trying to sound like she means it. “I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but—”
Eli smiles. “Oh, I know exactly what kind of girl you are.”
“You do not.”
Eli stands and steps forward. “Oh, but I do.”
Scarlet steps back. He comes closer and Scarlet stops. When they are only inches apart Eli reaches out, as if he were trying to pet a wild deer, and gently takes hold of her hand. Scarlet doesn’t have to look to know that sparks are firing between their fingertips. When they kiss this time, every fuse in the hotel blows.
9:33 p.m.—Goldie
“What the hell was that?”
Leo sits up in the darkness. “I haven’t a clue.” He slides off the bed we’re currently occupying in room 49. “But I need to investigate. The new night porter is bloody useless.”
It must be a power shortage, I think, as Leo leaves, banging the door behind him. But just before it happened I felt a shift in the air—like the way the light changes before a thunderstorm.
It’s slightly unnerving. I feel again that surge of power in my veins, as if I’m pulsing with electricity instead of blood. I think of Leo to steady myself. Never in my life did I imagine it possible to feel this way with another human being: so reckless and so safe all at once. I thought, after my stepfather, I’d never feel safe with a man again. Not that, never that. And yet, here we are. I smile to myself. A small miracle.
11:59 p.m.—Leo
Leo watches Goldie sleep, watches the rise and fall of her chest, listens to her breath. Now and then, he strokes the tips of his fingers along her cheek.
Of all the despicable things Leo has ever done, this must be the worst. It’s not the killing that bothers him as much as the method. The way he killed before had a sense of symmetry, a certain cleanness, a guiltless inevitability. He’s followed the dictates of nature or the rules of war. This is how he’s killed every Grimm girl to date.
But with Goldie it’s no longer simply the kill, it’s deceit and betrayal too. And not only of her but them both. Every day he’s increasingly torn. When Leo’s with her he’s sure he won’t be able to do it. But when they’re apart he feels the soldier in him strengthening—his nervous system, his predatory instincts, overriding his heart.
The human heart, Leo thinks, is a strange thing. It should fight for its own survival, but it doesn’t, not always anyway. He’s seen enough examples of selfless heroics on Earth, even strangers sacrificing their lives to save others. Of animals, Leo isn’t sure. But in stars, in soldiers, the survival instinct is so strong it overrides everything else, even love.
18th October
Fourteen days . . .
9:06 a.m.—Goldie
“I never thought I’d have this,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
I burrow my face in his bare chest. “This.”
He cups my head in his hand, wrapping blond curls around his fingers. “I’m glad.”
I try to shape my feelings into words. “I suppose I always felt like . . . like I’d never be loved, not simply for myself . . .”
Leo nods.
“Just for me, without doing things I don’t . . . Thank you.”
“For what?”
I shrug. “Everything.”
We lie together for one long perfect hour, silence settling between us like dawn light. Eventually, I sit up to touch the tiny scar of a crescent moon on his shoulder blade.
“What are these?”
I’ve been waiting to ask this question since the first time I caught sight of the scars. I told myself to wait until Leo told me himself. But I find myself too impatient, too curious. I draw my fingertip along his spine and across his back, tracing the spaces between the scars, a map of roads and rivers always encircling, never touching.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say.
“I will.” He takes a deep breath. “I just don’t know how.”
“Whatever it is, I won’t mind.”
He falls silent. I want to stroke his scars, to show I’m not scared even though I am, a little. I want to reassure him it won’t repulse me, whatever his confession.
“I promise,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.”
I feel a sudden rush of heat under my fingertips and snatch my hand away.
“Don’t say stupid things.” Leo shrinks back, pulling into himself, though he doesn’t pull away from me.
It’s the first time I’ve felt his fire, and for the first time I wonder if perhaps