Inspire (The Muse #1)(8)
Author: Cora Carmack

Horror slicks my stomach. I’d poured it all out on that crowd. I can’t feel even an inkling of it now. A slideshow runs through my mind then of all my failures, all the artists I kept too long or let get too close. I see their faces, both as they once were, and then how I left them—broken, shells of their former selves. Van wasn’t the first of mine to do violence against himself or someone else. Some had done it in misguided attempts to win me back. Others let their loss turn to anger. Against me. Against the world. But mostly themselves.

That’s another reason why my body renews itself daily. Not just so I’ll stay young and pretty, but because there’s an unfortunate tendency for the affected to lash out, to try to destroy the beautiful thing that had once brought them success or motivation or joy.

I’m not saved from that kind of violence. No, the gods enjoy others’ pain too much to give me that kind of gift, but at least I don’t wear the marks of it forever on my skin.

For the most part, my entanglements are simple and short with just the right amount of give and take to leave the artist happy and on his or her way to a well-led life. But there are the exceptions. The ruined ones. The ones whose personalities pull too close to obsession; those who can’t deal with my absence. They’re rare. As are those who turn to violence. And I know it’s not healthy or fair, but I’ve come to accept that when the violence turns to me, it’s the world’s (perhaps the gods’) way of seeking balance.

Wilder’s sigh brings me back to the present and he asks, “Where’s your car?”

I swallow and look around, unwilling to tell him that I walked all the way from my place up by campus. Because that will make me look even crazier than I already do.

“What are you doing here?” I ask instead.

I get that same almost smile he gave me as I pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, and it hits me just as hard this time. His half smile is more charming than most peoples’ full out grins.

“You’re bossier than I remember.” When I try to pull away, he appeases me by saying, “I was out with some friends, and I saw you leaving a club. You looked …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to know what I looked like.

“You followed me?”

“I tried to. I lost track of you in the crowds for a bit. I was crossing the street to keep searching down Sixth when I looked up by chance and saw you with that homeless guy.”

“Oh.”

Oh. That’s all I’ve got to say right now. Even if I weren’t completely addled by the events of the night, I don’t think I would know what to say to this guy. He isn’t one of my potential partners. I’m not luring him in to satisfy the necessities of my curse.

But I want to lure him in all the same, and that makes me feel guilty and sick and excited all at the same time.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

“Why did you follow me?”

He turns his head, looking down the street, and for a moment I don’t think he’ll answer me. Then he laughs. “I’m still trying to figure that one out. Give me a few minutes. I’ll think of a reason that’s not at all creepy. I promise.”

Carefully, he eases back until his arm is no longer around me, and just his hand is left bracing me at my waist. I’m sure he doesn’t mean for it to be suggestive, but I’m still coiled tight from the club, from the way it feels to use my ability. The simple touch of his hand sliding across the thin fabric of my dress is enough to set my nerves on fire, and I shiver.

He immediately sheds his jacket and hands it to me. The leather is worn and smooth, and for a moment I just hold it against me. It smells like him, and the warmth and scent is so comforting after the night I’ve had that I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes before I manage to get a grip on myself.

“Put that on. November in Texas might not be that cold, but I can’t believe you left the house in just that dress. Or did you lose a coat too?”

I tilt my head to the side and survey him with a frown before tugging the jacket on. “And you called me bossy.”

He smiles for half a second, but then his expression turns serious. “But really, what happened? Are you okay? Your face as you left that club … Are you … Did—”

“I’m fine. I swear. Just a weird night.”

He reaches forward and pulls both sides of the coat together, cocooning me inside. His hands slip up, and I bite my lip, wanting him to put just a little more pressure behind that light touch. He lifts the collar, so that my face is blocked from the wind, and his knuckles graze my cheek.

I can tell he’s not going to let it go. He’s going to keep digging, and I have no idea what I could possibly say. “Where’s Gwen?” I ask quickly, and it’s such a stupid question, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head. Like he would bring his daughter out for a night on the town. God, I don’t even know what time it is. Sometime before two when the bars start to close, that’s all I know. She’s probably at home with her mother. His girlfriend, maybe. My stomach turns, and his hands drop from the jacket, making the sensation worsen.

“She’s at home with my mother.” I feel an inkling of relief before he adds, “Our mother. She’s my little sister.” That almost smile drives me almost mad again. “I tried to tell you, but you bolted out of the store. Left your ice cream and cookies behind.”

Oh gods. Could I have made a bigger fool of myself? Why is he even standing here with me? He should think I’m crazy. All I’ve done is act it around him.

“Sorry, I had to go.”

“Yeah … you said. You seemed a little spooked.”

“I wasn’t spooked. I just remembered something I had to do.”

His expression tells me he doesn’t believe me, and I fight not to blush. I must fail because his hand goes back to my face, a thumb dragging over the exact spot where I can feel the heat rising on my skin. His eyes are big and dark as he scans my face, and when he leans in, his body comes incredibly close to mine. “Is it strange that I wanted to go after you? I think I might have, if Gwen hadn’t been with me.”

I swallow once. Then again. Because it’s not strange. He’s reacting to my ability, to the way I look. I don’t exclusively influence men, but they open up a lot easier to a pretty face than most girls do.

He continues, “Though I think Gwen would have been all too happy to chase you too. I don’t know how you did it, but she was a complete angel the rest of the day. Didn’t throw a single fit. I think I might have to call you Saint Kalli if you continue to work miracles like that.”