Elara's Point of View
I didn't get any sleep. Not a single wink. Not since he disappeared at dawn. I kept thinking about him: his eyes, the way he smelled, and how close his hand came to touching mine. There was something that hurt my chest that I didn't want to name.
It was 11:58 p.m. I sat in the old armchair in the living room with my knees pulled up to my chest and stared at the faint glow of moonlight on the floorboards.
I jumped when I heard a soft creak behind me.
"You're early tonight," I said in a low voice.
He said, "I could say the same about you," in a low, teasing, and almost smug voice.
I slowly turned my head. The shadows framed Silas as he stood there. He seemed more real than he did last night. More real, more solid. My stomach turned.
"I... waited," I said, my voice barely audible. "For you."
He turned his head. "For me?" His lips turned into that faint, crooked smile that made my knees weak. "I don't think you should."
"I don't care," I said. "I like waiting," I said.
"You like danger, then," he said, moving closer and making the space between us feel tight. "Or maybe you are just like me."
I took a deep breath. My throat got dry. "Maybe both," I said quietly.
He chuckled quietly, but there was a warning in it. "Don't get too close, Elara."
I frowned. "Why not?"
He shook his head. "Because... I can't be touched. Not completely. Not yet.
I moved closer to him. "I don't care." I want to give it a shot.
The room was quiet for a moment. The house was just a quiet hum. My heart raced in my ears.
He slowly raised a hand. He thought about it. Then our fingers brushed against each other, and fire shot up my arm. My skin felt hot and cold at the same time. His eyes got a little bigger, and I knew he felt it too.
I didn't pull away. I couldn't.
"Do you feel that?" I whispered, my voice shaking.
He said, "Yes," almost like a growl. "I shouldn't."
I said again, "I don't care." This time my voice is stronger. "I still want it."
He shook his head, confused and torn. "Elara, you don't know what this is." I… I'm not like you.
"Then show me," I said. "Please."
His look became softer, almost loving. "I can't stay when the sun comes up," he said softly. "I can hardly be here at all."
I moved closer. Just inches away now. Our knees were almost touching. My hand shook as it hovered near his arm. The stress was too much. I could smell him—warm, like wood smoke, and like rain—and it made my heart race.
He took a breath. "Elara, this is risky."
"I am not afraid," I said softly as I reached out. I touched his arm with my fingers. Again. Sparks. Flame. Ice. I felt something crazy go through me.
He flinched but didn't move. Not completely. Just close enough to keep the line between us.
"Why do you treat me this way?" I asked, my voice low and almost desperate.
"Because... He said, "I feel alive when I'm near you," his voice thick and heavy. "But I can't... be completely here. And I don't want to hurt you.
I laughed, but it was soft and shaky. "Did you hurt me? You haven't even touched me yet.
"You might be..." His words got stuck, unfinished. His eyes got darker. I shivered as desire and fear fought there.
I reached again. Fingers barely touching the inside of his wrist. The reaction was immediate. He took a sharp breath. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my chest.
I said, "Stop teasing me," almost like I was scolding. My hands were shaking.
"I am not kidding," he said. His voice was low, like a growl. "I'm giving you a warning."
I whispered, "Then I'll take the chance."
He leaned in so close that our foreheads almost touched. The air between us was tense, crackling, and impossible. My heart raced. My skin hurts. I wanted to get closer to him, to feel him against me, and to know he was real.
But he pulled back a little and shook his head. "I can't," he said in a low voice.
"I don't care," I said again. The words came out of my mouth like a spell, and I almost believed them.
We stood there, inches apart, daring each other to move. No one said anything for a long time. My chest was heavy. I could smell him and see how his shoulders moved up and down and how his hair fell into his eyes.
Finally, he said, "I don't like hurting you."
"I can't help it," I said softly, almost in a whisper.
The clock rang. Five fifty-eight a.m. The light coming in through the windows was thin and sharp.
He suddenly took a step back. His eyes quickly moved to the window. "I... I have to leave."
"Hold on!" I lunged, desperate, and my fingers brushed his sleeve again. "Don't go!"
He said, "I can't stay," his voice tight. His hands moved toward mine and then disappeared.
Gone.
The chair was empty. My fingers tingled where they had almost touched his. My chest hurt like a drum that was empty.
I fell into the chair, tired. My eyelids are heavy. My head is still spinning. I didn't notice when sleep took me completely.
My hand shot to my shoulder when I woke up. It wasn't there. It felt like warmth. Real warmth.
I was frozen. Heart pounding. I turned around slowly.
Nothing.
The room is empty. Nobody.
My heart was pounding in my ears.
And then I realized that I had felt him again. There it is. Warm. Alive.
But he was no longer there.
It was 6:01 a.m. on the clock. The room was full of light. The house was still. Not loud enough.
And I knew it wasn't over.
Elara wakes up to the ghostly warmth of Silas's hand on her shoulder, but when she looks around, he's gone. The danger, tension, and forbidden desire have only grown.