Episode 3: The Space Between Heartbeats
602 Words
CHAPTER THREE
The Space Between Heartbeats
She dreamed of falling, but this time the water was warm.
She opened her eyes to darkness. The flat was silent, the fog pressing against the windows. Her hand was pressed to her chest, and her heart was beating faster than it should.
She could still feel his fingers on her cheek.
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She fed that night on the edge of Soho, in an alley behind a music hall. The man was a musician—long fingers, blood that tasted like champagne and dreams. She took only what she needed and left a folded note in his pocket. Enough for his rent.
She found Elias on Wardour Street, leaning against a closed bookshop. He saw her before she spoke.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"I've been thinking about you," he replied. "All day."
He stepped closer. She did not step back.
"I thought about the way you leaned into my hand," he said. "Like you'd forgotten what warmth felt like."
She had forgotten. A hundred years of cold, of hunger, of running.
"I don't remember," she whispered. "What it feels like to be warm."
He raised his hand. She did not pull away. His fingers touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes.
"Like that," he said. "It feels like that."
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She opened her eyes. He was close enough to kiss.
"You should be careful," she said. "I'm not safe."
"I know."
"I could hurt you."
He smiled. Small. Crooked. "You won't."
"How do you know?"
He leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her lips.
"Because you tucked a coin into a man's pocket. Because you stood under an oak tree and told me about your mother. Because you looked at me like I was the first warm thing you'd touched in a hundred years."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You're not a monster, Lila. You're the most human person I've ever met."
He kissed her.
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His lips were gentle at first, asking permission. Her hands curled into his coat, pulling him closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she was pressed against him, and the warmth was everywhere, flooding through her, filling the hollow spaces she had carried for so long.
He tasted like coffee and rain. She wanted to memorize him—the shape of his mouth, the rhythm of his breath, the way his hand tightened on her waist.
When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.
"We shouldn't have," she said.
"Probably not."
"He'll find out. Cassius."
Elias caught her wrist. "I'm not afraid of him. And I'm not afraid of you."
He kissed her knuckles. She felt it all the way to her bones.
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He walked her to Church Row. At her door, he stopped.
"Tomorrow. The heath. After dark."
She should say no.
"Yes," she said.
He smiled. "Good night, Lila."
She watched him disappear into the fog. Her lips were warm. She touched them, and for a moment, she thought she saw a figure at the end of the street. Tall. Still. Watching.
She blinked, and it was gone.
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On the heath, Cassius Vaughn watched the lights go out in her flat.
He had seen them on Wardour Street. The way she kissed the hunter. The way she leaned into him like he was the last warm thing in a frozen world.
He smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"The lost lamb has found a shepherd," he murmured.
He turned and walked back into the trees. The hunt was about to become very interesting.
END OF CHAPTER THREE
- Writer
