Inspire (The Muse #1)(39)
Author: Cora Carmack

With the movie playing in the background, Gwen’s cold feet tucked under my thigh, and my hand brushing through Kalli’s silky soft hair, more music filters through my mind, underscoring the moment.

Is this how it feels to fall?

Not so complicated after all.

Chapter Seventeen

Kalli

Forty-five minutes into the movie, both brother and sister have fallen asleep. Gwen is slumped over into my lap, her feet stretched out over Wilder’s thighs, and he’s leaning into the armrest, his head dropped back against the cushions. I give in to the strange impulse to cry when I look at them, and in seconds my cheeks and neck are damp from flowing, silent tears.

I want to scold myself for being ridiculous. Or laugh at my absurd mind, but I can’t. Not here. Not when it’s dark and quiet, and I can feel Gwen breathe against me, and Wilder’s hand still lays warm and heavy against the back of my neck, even in sleep.

I can’t stop my tears because this … this simple moment is something I never would have let myself even dream of, and it’s opening doors that have long been closed, and it aches in the best possible way to feel the dust being blown away.

This is what it’s like to just be. To exist at the very pinnacle of the present. To exist not for another person or a purpose or because of some bigger plan by fate, but for my own fulfillment. When I held onto the inspiration, when I let it take me over, I’d thought that freeing. I remember thinking that I felt truly alive for the very first time. I was wrong. This. Here. On this lumpy couch, I know better than I ever have what it means to live.

I let them both sleep a little while longer, alternating between watching the movie and watching the siblings. Gwen’s hair is lighter, finer, but it curls the same way Wilder’s does. His other hand, the one not resting against my neck is strewn over one of Gwen’s ankles. They’ve got the same skin color, only his is marked and decorated with black and colored ink.

Finally, I decide that Gwen is completely out, and that she’d be better off in her bed. Besides … I can’t stay all night. Even if I want to, even if could spend days just soaking up what it feels like to be with them. I don’t want his mother to come home and find me here. And if I’m honest, I don’t know how safe it is. The energy in me is at low, definitely manageable levels. But it should be nearly non-existent after my last connection with Jack only hours ago. I don’t know what it is, but something about Wilder calls not just to my heart and my spirit, but to my ability too. It rises faster when he’s around. And before I know what that means, I shouldn’t spend prolonged, unnecessary time with him.

Carefully, I slide an arm beneath Gwen’s legs, and another around her shoulders. I maneuver her as gently as I can into my arms. She doesn’t stir, and it takes all my core body strength to stand up smoothly. I kick off the blanket that clings to my feet, and walk her back through the hallway in the direction of where I think her room is. Luckily the first door I nudge open with my toe is definitely hers. Small pink twin bed in the middle. Toys and stuffed animals strewn about. Messy, slept-in sheets.

I lay her down as gently as I can, but it’s hard to control the limp weight of her body, and I end up having to adjust her into a comfortable position. She must be exhausted because she stays sleeping through the entire thing. A lamp is on near her bed that I assume is her night light, and I leave it on just in case. Tucking the blankets up to her chin, I push a few blonde curls back from her face.

She’s such a pretty little girl. Vibrant and enthusiastic, and I think I might love her already. Somewhere in the back of my mind, warning bells go off.

It’s not smart to love mortals.

They’re vulnerable and breakable, and they age and die. All things I knew going into this, but I hadn’t expected my reaction to Wilder and his world would be this potent. If this is how I feel after one night, how will I feel in a week? A month?

Unease prickles along my spine, but when I make my way back into the living room and lay eyes on a sleeping Wilder, it’s replaced by the shivering excitement he always seems to induce in me.

Even though I had planned to go, I find myself sitting down beside him again. The need to feel close to him is stifling, but I meant what I said to him in the kitchen. I can’t just dive into something serious with him. The pull toward him is serious enough, to add in sex on top of that, especially when I’m still not sure how all of this is going to work … not a good idea. But it won’t hurt to just lay beside him for a while, right? He’s asleep. And I made my stand in the kitchen even though I was terrified of what he’d say.

Most of my relationships with artists have been about sex. It’s the only truthful kind of intimacy I could ever have with them. And I’ve spent my entire existence knowing the worth of my beauty and my gift. I had been afraid that without my ability and without sex … I might not hold as much interest for Wilder.

Now I feel stupid for that niggling fear. When he’d held my face in his hands, and pinned me with his eyes … gods, he made me feel like the world revolved around me. Like I was the sun, and everything else existed in relation to me, depended on me.

Carefully, I slide a little closer, and without putting too much of my weight on him, I lean into the crook of his arm and rest my head between his heart and his shoulder. His scent and heat surrounds me, and I let myself fall a little deeper into him. His arm drops from the back of the couch, draping along my side and curling around my hip. I tense, and look up, but other than a slight shifting of his body, sinking farther into the cushions, he doesn’t appear to be awake.

I stay for another hour, flirting with the edge of sleep in his arms, but when I find myself beginning to replay the night in my head again, I decide I’ve lingered long enough.

But he apparently isn’t quite as out of it as his sister. He groans and shifts when I climb out from under his arm. While I slip my shoes back on, he blinks sleepily at me, looking almost confused.

“I have to go,” I whisper. “Gwen is in bed. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The fog in his eyes clears, and he wipes a large hand over his face before standing. He wobbles slightly, so I assume he’s still a little drunk. I would be too if my body didn’t reset at midnight.

“You were just going to sneak out again?”

“I was going to leave you a note.”

He crosses the gap between us, and his hand slides around my neck, pausing to rub a circle around my nape before tangling his fingers in my hair. His grip is claiming, possessive, but his nose nudging against mine is sweet and playful. “New rule. We never leave without a proper goodbye.”