Chapter 49

A few hours later, Anton and I are fairly sprawled over the bed, pillows knocked everywhere. And, obviously, that’s all my fault, because I’m the only one who can touch the pillows. But considering the expanse of his long boy limbs spread everywhere, I feel that it’s fair to make him share the blame.

“Laila’s gonna kill us,” I murmur, tracing a line of red wine that I spilled – completely by accident – on the pretty green comforter. “We’ve ruined her nice bedding.”

“Kill you,” Anton sighs, laying limp and pleasantly drunk across the end of the bed. “I haven’t touched a drop all night.”

I laugh and move towards him, laying out on my belly and holding the half-full glass of wine over his head, just starting to barely tip it. “Open up,” I say, “I’ll dribble it in, maybe you’ll get a taste –“

“Junie!” Anton laughs, his eyes crinkling in that lovely way they do when he’s perfectly happy. He lifts a ghostly hand and idly swipes at my wrist. “You’re just going to make a mess.”

“It’s worth the mess!” I insist, laughing and tilting the glass further, a drop of red wine just forming on the edge. “My handmaid is thirsty, he needs a sip!”

Anton laughs again and then snarls as the drop threatens to fall, his hand snapping up to catch my wrist, stopping my breath. “Listen, June, if you want to make a mess of this bed I can think of about a dozen –“

But then he goes still to, his face going pale with shock as he stares at me. I stare back at him for a moment, and then shift my eyes to where his hand is…is actually holding my wrist. Not fully corporal – no warmth, no pressure, but…half real, at least. And I can…I can feel him…

It only lasts a moment before his fingers shift, again becoming light, and pass right through me as they always do.

“Anton,” I whisper – shocked, delighted.

“Put the wine down, June,” he says, his voice tight.

I do as he bids, leaning over the edge of the bed and placing the glass on the floor. When I lift myself back up Anton is already sitting, leaning towards me, looking at me with an intensity that fills me with surprise. I roll onto my back as he leans close over me, but he doesn’t say a word. I reach out again, my heart pounding, barely daring to hope – because if he’s real? If I can touch him?

Anton holds his breath as I drift my fingertips over his cheek, his hair.

But…no. Nothing.

He’s still…ghostly, as he was before. My fingertips pass right through.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, shaking my head at him, completely confused.

“I have no idea,” he says, staring down at me, half in wonder and half…devastated, I think. Is that the right word for the expression on his face? I frown a little, because I don’t know.

“But you could feel me?” I ask. “Like I could feel you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his eyes falling shut and his mouth drawing into a thin line like it was the great tragedy of his life. My heart sinks, my wolf pacing back and forth with concern.

I sigh, trying again, willing him to be real, to form in front of me as I continue to trace my fingers over his hair. But of course it doesn’t work. “What does that feel like?” I ask with a sigh, peering up at him. “On your end?”

He smirks, shifting back to give me more space. I sit up too, closely watching his face as he answers. “It feels like…well, it’s going to make me sound like one of those creepy ghosts that was trying to steal your lifeforce in the Deadlands. Because that’s exactly what it feels like, June – a little bit of warmth. And…coziness. Like being alive again, just a little bit.”

My heart breaks when he says that. “Are you always cold?”

He shrugs. “I’m not warm. But when you’re around I’m warm...er.”

I nod and lay myself down on the bed, opening my arms in an order to come close. Anton sighs and lays out the long length of his body against mine. I snuggle closer, wanting to give him as much of that warmth and life as I can.

“What does it feel like to you?” he murmurs.

“Feels…tingly,” I say, laughing a little and blushing – absurdly, blushing. Because why would that make me blush? “Wherever you touch it gets all tingly.”

“Like pins and needles?”

“No,” I whisper. “Like starlight.”

Anton laughs a little, though not mocking, not unkind. “How do you know what starlight feels like?”

“I just know,” I reply, letting a little growl come into my voice. “I’m a magical demigoddess, all right? It is within me to know.” I gesture a hand long down the length of my body and he laughs again, turning his face towards me. I let my eyes drift shut.

“All right, don’t get all pissed off,” he murmurs, making me laugh. “I believe you. Little drunk bat.”

I laugh harder at that, shaking a bit with it, and I can feel him smile. He likes that, I know – making me laugh.

“Anton, what are we going to do?” I sigh, covering my eyes with my hand, willing the lights in the room to go dimmer, wanting nothing more but to be lost to the dark. “I can’t be bad anymore or else the God of Death will toss me out and bring Seraphina in. And, I mean, obviously she’ll win because she’s the cutest person to have ever lived. But that’s very child-bride-y and creepy and I don’t want to do that to her or to Orion.”

“Which one is Seraphina?” Anton asks, sounding a bit half asleep and drunk himself. “The littlest?”

“Yes, my cousin,” I sigh. “Youngest daughter of Cora and Roger. Duchess Seraphina Lilianna.” I smile, thinking of her and how precious she is to all of us.

Anton takes a deep breath, clearly thinking it through. “Well, you’ve got something of a break this week, right? You’re in the top so you’re not going to be killed.”

I hum my agreement, conceding the point, curious where he’s going with this.

“So, what if you…played by Death’s rules, a little bit?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…let him think he’s cowed you.”

“He has,” I growl, hating just how much he’s scared me with that threat to return me home and take one of the girls in my place. I’d never, never forgive myself if that happened.

“All right, but your signature Juniper rage is going to come back at some point. You only have it in you to be subdued for so long.”

I laugh a little, shaking my head but letting him continue.

“What I mean to say,” Anton says, slow and considerate, “is…maybe slip under the radar for a little. Use this off week to gather the information you’re trying to get. We can…do that divination thing, try to get information about where Blythe is, if you still want to have that question answered.”

“I do,” I whisper, nodding.

“All right, so we’ll do that. And also, maybe try to get some…rules of this Game out of someone. Maybe Orion. Or Laila – she seems to know an awful lot. Or maybe there’s a very useful handbook that we’ve just overlooked.”

“So, a week to just…gather information? And see where we stand at the end?”

I feel him shrug next to me. “I mean, we’re kind of going day by day here, June. It’s as far into the future as I can think. But if we want a plan…I don’t think it’s a bad one.”

“Me neither,” I say, mentally agreeing to it. My wolf lifts her snout from her position in my soul, all curled up like a cozy croissant. She gives a lazy little howl of agreement that makes me smirk and drift a mental hand over her soft fur. “I can play nice for…a week.”

I scowl, wondering if that’s true. But then I remember Rosie, and Bella, and Seraphina, and set myself to the task.

“Only problem,” Anton says, his voice humming in that way that means a joke is coming. I scowl already, anticipating it. “Is that you may lose your grip on Prince Lover Boy if you suddenly turn into a nice girl.”

“What?” I snap, going a bit rigid, my eyes flying open for the sole purpose of glaring at Anton.

“Oh, I heard the things he was saying out on that terrace, Juniper –“

“Spy,” I snarl, pointing a finger right at his face, “eavesdropper –“

He playfully snaps his teeth at my finger, making me jump and then laugh. “Yes,” he murmurs, letting his eyelids drift half shut, looking at me with a proprietary gaze that makes my stomach turn over, makes my wolf lift her head. “Someone’s got to watch over you, lest you let Princes sweep you away with their good looks and heated words –“

“Oh, and is that your job?” I ask, dubious.

“What else is a handmaid for?” He grins at me, delighting in this torture.

“I can’t believe you listened,” I mutter, scowling, ducking my head down.

“I can’t believe you fell for those lines,” he groans, lifting his hands to cover his face like he’s feeling deep shame on my behalf.

“What!?” I squeak, propping myself up on my elbow to glare down at him. “What lines!?”

“’You’ve captivated me,’” he murmurs, pitching his voice deep and ridiculous. “’I can’t stop thinking about you!’”

I give a horrified squeal of protest that makes Anton burst out laughing, pulling his hands away from his face to grin at me. “Those were not lines!”

“They were the essence of lines!” Anton says, laughing and shaking his head at me. “Lines from the line book that is handed down from boy to boy the moment he hits puberty –“

I huff, falling back down on the bed and turning to lay on my back, my arms crossed over my chest. “Lines or not, he likes me. And you know it.”

And as I stare at the ghost boy next to me, watching a little bitterness cross the face that is so usually filled with humor, just briefly – just in passing – I suddenly wonder if he’s…jealous.