“‘Ooph!'”
Ivelina stumbled forward and knocked her forehead into the wall.
‘Thud!’
“‘Eugh!'”
Her forehead turned pink.
“Ah. Are you all right?”
He had pushed her, and then he worried about her. He turned her this way and that to inspect, even though he was the one who had done it.
Ivelina dazedly spun her head in slow circles.
“…The world is going round and round… ’round and round’…”
“Of course the world is spinning. You’re spinning your head.”
He said something perfectly logical, then reached out and pressed his index finger into her cheek. The soft, cream-cheese consistency of it gave under his fingertip.
“‘Eeht.'”
She made an extremely strange noise. He poked it again.
“‘Eeeeht!'”
The addictiveness was immediate—the sensation, and the instant, unguarded reaction.
Without quite meaning to, a soundless exhale of amusement escaped him.
His gaze shifted to her forehead.
Right in the center of that round, white forehead, a perfect red circle had formed—as though someone had pressed a seal into it.
He stared at it.
“…”
His thumb moved to the mark and pressed against it slowly.
Ivelina was looking up at him with a faintly vacant expression.
“‘Idiot.'”
He flicked her on the forehead. She covered it with both hands and made an indignant sound. At that, the corner of his mouth moved in something he caught only barely.
He turned toward the door.
“Rest, then.”
“Oh—wait—!”
Ivelina reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Reflexively, he knocked the hand away—a lifetime of not being touched.
“‘Oh!'”
‘Thud!’
This time the back of her head hit the wall.
“‘Ow!'”
She stuck out her lower lip and rubbed the spot with increasing irritation.
He looked at her and said, not entirely fairly:
“Why do you keep grabbing people without warning.”
“It’s just—are you leaving right now?”
“Obviously.”
“But—”
“…”
Ivelina swept a quick, nervous glance around the suite.
It was enormous—too many rooms, too many unlit corners where something could be hiding.
She crept back toward his shoulder.
“I’m scared to be alone… just until I fall asleep, please—”
“You’re a grown adult—”
He was about to dismiss this when something gave him pause.
‘Wait.’
Wherever this baby rabbit went, something followed her.
People kept attaching themselves to her—the wrong kind of people, specifically.
If he left.
If he left, and some predator who had been watching her all evening picked the lock and came in—
He pressed his brow together hard.
‘What a nightmare.’
“You’re right! I really can’t inconvenience you any further! I’m a grown-up, so—”
“One hour.”
“What?”
“I’ll leave in one hour.”
“‘Ah!’ Really? Thank you so much!”
Her eyes lit up like cut glass.
Between the forehead and the back of her head—both now occupying a matching shade of red—a vague, inexplicable tenderness stirred in his hand.
“…”
He reached out and rubbed the front mark first, with the same absent expression he might use to brush lint from his sleeve.
“‘Hehe.'”
She laughed like a fool.
He rubbed the back as well.
“‘Hehe.'”
He couldn’t understand why she was laughing. She’d knocked herself into walls, twice.
“Why do you keep smiling at everything.”
She had been grinning happily at him, and now she looked at his red eyes directly—blinking faster and faster—and her clear pupils slowly contracted into sharp focus.
He looked at those eyes, and his breathing slowed.
“You’re so beautiful up close. How can a man be this beautiful… and your eye color is extraordinary.”
“…”
“Are you an angel…? Or a demon…? Which one is more handsome, I wonder…”
She pressed her hands to her head and deliberated with great seriousness.
He wondered briefly if she was teasing him.
‘She’ was the beautiful one. What was she looking at him for?
“And your nose is so sharp—and your skin is like a peeled egg—”
“…”
“I want you.”
“…”
His throat moved.
He took her wrist without thinking and walked with her across the room. He pushed her down onto the bed.
“Sleep. Now.”
“‘Eep!'”
She hit the mattress and immediately scrambled upright, crawled to the center on all fours, and arranged herself on a pillow with prim and deliberate tidiness.
She blinked at the ceiling with very bright eyes.
“Yes! You said you’ll leave in an hour! I have to sleep fast, Ivelina…!”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“…”
‘Finally.’
He breathed out, watching the process of Ivelina lying down, and walked directly to the bathroom.
* * *
Water dripped from his jaw. He stood with both hands braced on the sink, looking at his own face in the mirror. He barely recognized himself tonight.
His hair was half-soaked from the rough wash, his face not much better.
“‘Damn.'”
A dull, low heat had settled in his abdomen.
He had never experienced anything like this before. More precisely: he had never responded to a woman before.
And all it had taken was one moment of eye contact with Ivelina.
“‘Ha.’ What on earth…”
He felt like gutter refuse.
* * *
‘Knock knock.’
“‘Hrrgh—'”
Ivelina bolted upright from sleep.
She blinked in confusion, taking in the dark room. She was alone. Her nameless handsome rescuer appeared to have already left.
‘Was that a hallucination? Or a ghost?’
She was extremely frightened.
With trembling hands, she hauled the blanket up and burrowed under it completely.
‘Knock knock.’
Not a hallucination.
She crept toward the door, still bundled in the blanket.
“W—who’s there…?”
“Room service.”
“‘Ah!'”
That voice! Familiar!
She hadn’t ordered anything, but the familiarity dissolved her caution entirely.
She flung the door open and found the front desk attendant outside, sweating profusely.
“Miss! I owe you an apology for earlier! And this is—”
“‘Wow’—what’s this?”
“The whiskey I promised. Orange flavored!”
“‘Oh!’—you actually brought it!”
In truth, the attendant had agonized over this for thirty minutes.
The male guest had been truly frightening.
But the female guest’s face—lighting up over the mention of orange juice—had stayed with him. He had resolved to deliver the whiskey to the gentleman and retreat immediately.
“That, um—the other guest—is he still here…?”
“Oh! He already left, I think!”
“…He left you alone?”
“Yes! He waited a whole hour, though!”
None of this made any sense to the attendant, but he accepted it loosely.
“I—I see! Then I’ll arrange for enhanced security on this floor immediately! Please enjoy a peaceful evening, miss!”
“Thank you! Good night! I’ll enjoy it!”
Ivelina waved at him several times as he went—turning back to look at her repeatedly—and he survived the encounter intact, which was largely a matter of good fortune.
“Perfect timing. I was thirsty.”
She closed the door, opened the whiskey bottle, and drank directly from it.
It was exactly as described: bright, sweet, genuinely tasting of orange.
She finished the bottle quickly. It really did taste like juice.
She wiped the spill from her chin with her sleeve and exclaimed:
“‘Wow’, that was delicious!”
The low alcohol content had been described clearly. The absence of alcohol had not been mentioned.
Ivelina had begun to sober up—and had immediately poured herself back into intoxication.
Her tolerance, regrettably, hovered near zero.
“There are still kind people in this world.”
She set the empty bottle neatly beside the door, walked to the bed, and stretched out at the very edge—exactly where she’d started. She closed her eyes and began counting sheep. She was asleep almost immediately.
* * *
After considerable internal commentary and a cold shower, Kael emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white robe, his hair still damp. Where the robe gaped, the lines of his chest were visible.
The room was perfectly quiet. Not a sound, not a breath of wind.
Ivelina lay on the bed—in precisely the same position she’d been in when he’d left—fast asleep.
“…”
He shook his head and walked toward the bed.
She was sleeping soundly. The problem was the position—pressed against the very left edge of the mattress, she looked like she might simply roll off.
“‘Tch.'”
It caught at him, uselessly.
He exhaled, leaned down, and slid one hand under her knees and the other beneath her back. He lifted her.
She was impossibly light. He was still feeling faintly bewildered by this when Ivelina’s hands moved to his neck.
“…”
He looked down.
The baby rabbit had wide, clear eyes and was looking directly up at him. Those light green irises blinked rapidly.
“You weren’t asleep?”
“…I was counting sheep.”
She rolled her jewel-bright eyes, caught somewhere between sheepishness and amusement.
The sharp contraction of his pupils softened into something slow.
He pressed his lips to her mouth—that small, round, rose-red mouth—and kissed her.
‘Peck.’ ‘Peck.’
Ivelina’s eyes went wide. She didn’t push him away—she only blinked rapidly.
He kept his gaze on those green eyes while he kissed her. He tilted his head just enough so their noses wouldn’t touch, and went on pressing his lips softly against hers, again and again.
“‘Mm’—’hh’—”
Her eyes fell closed. Her lips, rigid with nerves, pressed tightly together.
He coaxed them open with the tip of his tongue—gentle, patient—a warmth that asked rather than demanded.
Soft and unhurried and utterly new, the sensation made her lashes tremble faintly.
He took in every small detail of her with eyes still half-open. ‘Peck.’ He drew her lower lip in lightly, and her body shifted—shoulders going tense, a fine shiver moving through her—while her arms tightened around his neck.
He kept kissing her, drawing the tension from those lips, teasing gently at the seam with his tongue.
“‘Haa’…”
She exhaled softly and let her lips part.
He pressed his tongue through the opening—slow, deliberate—tracing the even curve of her teeth, asking his way in.
“‘Mm’…”
A small, uncertain sound escaped her, and she accepted him.
His tongue pushed deeper—thick and unhurried—meeting the soft resistance of hers.
He tightened both arms around her. The weight of them together pressed into the mattress. Her head sank into the pillow.
The night had a long way yet to go.
