12. Chapter 12

Chapter twelve

A t the beginning of this—after the first body I helped Felix dispose of, I'd thought that Felix was too daft to be an evil mastermind. I wasn't so sure of that now. He certainly had me wrapped tightly around his finger.

Felix often reminded me of a politician. He knew exactly what to say to dodge questions. Exactly how to give enough, without sharing too much. Like he'd been trained to unite masses of people—but didn't know what it was like to be genuine when he was alone.

Despite this, lying did not come easily to him like it did to me.

He was an enigma.

People who were natural saviors didn't tend to be brutal murderers on the side. At least…I didn't think they did? I'd consulted The Club , and all I'd gotten were odd looks. Allen had slapped me on the back and told me not to be so closed-minded. That things weren't always as they appeared.

Whatever that meant .

There were pieces I was still missing in this story, and I couldn't wait to fill in the gaps.

I'd promised him I'd find out his secrets, and I meant that.

But I was content to wait till he told me himself.

Right now, I wanted to pay attention to Felix. He looked quite lovely in his spiffy white button-up. It hugged the contours of his chest, and clung almost obscenely to his biceps. There was a light in his eyes that flickered ever-changing, as unsteady as the flames that dwindled on the table.

After our laughter had died down, I'd done something rather insane.

I'd asked him to dance.

"How do you feel about waltzing?" I asked, voice quiet, hushed. Felix's expression shuttered and he sighed, lips pinched like he was deciding what to say. His earlier ease was forgotten as he slowly rose from his seat at the table.

"It's alright if you don't like to," I promised, eager for the little crumbs he sometimes dropped. Seeds of truth that felt like gifts. I rose to mirror him, the table still between us, my heart in my throat.

I knew exactly what song to play.

I had no idea if he knew how to dance at all—but part of me, something deep down, suspected he would. That he would perfectly mirror me in this like he did in everything else.

"I…" Felix's eyes felt very far away again. "I do. It's just…been quite some time since someone asked me. "

"About time then," I answered, crossing the distance between us. "Felix Finley?" My voice was low, soft, as I latched onto his wrist and gently pulled him close. My nose brushed the shell of his ear and Felix sighed, melting into the embrace like butter on a warm day. Like he'd needed this as much as I had.

Like he could feel the distance between us too.

And hated it as much as I did.

"May I have this dance?"

Felix inhaled a sharp, overwhelmed little sound. He nodded, his soft golden hair tickling my nose as he did so. "Yes, Marshall Warden, you may." The teasing lilt in his voice was addicting. So full of life. Vibrant .

Nothing like he'd sounded when he told me he felt like a ghost.

He led me to his living room.

The walls were cluttered with movie posters I didn't recognize in gilded frames. The most prevalent of which was called "The Emperor". Dark wallpaper from what appeared to be another era entirely lined the walls, nearly navy blue in the softly twinkling light that hung from a chandelier that dangled above. More crocheted wisteria hung from the ceiling. A cat perch ran along the wall, with a staircase that led all the way to the floor for the felines to frolic. It was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the line of hats that hung along one back wall.

We moved the couch and coffee table aside to make room .

I tried not to stare at the way Felix's arms flexed when he did so—or the fact his breaths remained even, not labored at all.

He stared at mine in return, and I admit, I maybe flexed a little more than was necessary—just to see his eyes darken.

Was this flirting?

It felt like flirting.

There was an odd buzzing feeling beneath my skin, like fluttery little winged ants. Reminded me of the ant hills I used to drown when I was a child—but…less creepy crawly. Softer, somehow.

When we had the room in order, furniture spread to the sides, a makeshift dance floor cleared, I turned toward the record player in the corner of the room. I'd intended to use my phone speaker—but this was far better. I'd never had one of these, though I'd always wanted one.

I moved to sift through the stacks of vinyl records, and a startled laugh escaped me when I saw one of the albums he'd collected.

It felt like fate.

"You have Tchaikovsky ?"

Felix blinked. He'd been waiting, leaning against the wall behind me, watching me move. He acted as though I was the only person who had been inside his home in years. Which I knew was a lie.

But, I was, apparently, the only guest who made him less lonely.

And that meant something, didn' t it?

"Of course I do." Felix's lips twisted into a merry little smile and I beamed at him, pulling the record out with barely concealed delight.

"You are perfect, aren't you?" I said the words without thinking, and the moment they came out I wished I could take them back. They were too honest. Too much. Even without my masks in place, I hadn't expected this sort of…open affection to pop free.

"I thought I wasn't special?" Felix teased, eyes dancing.

"You…uh—" I tried to quip back, to set us back on the right, bitter path. But…the words didn't seem to want to come. "I lied," I admitted, face hot. "Maybe."

"I see."

Because this was awkward, and I didn't want him to ask me any more questions, I held the record out to him. With ease, as if he'd done this thousands, if not millions of times, Felix took it from me, then pulled the vinyl record from the box. He lovingly cleaned the disk before putting it in its place on the record player with a graceful flick of his wrist.

I had never been jealous of an inanimate object before, but I certainly was now.

Perhaps if I got dirty, Felix would dust me off too?

The veins on the back of Felix's hands flickered as he moved. He was tiny, yes, but there was an effortless masculinity to him—especially now. Like he knew exactly who he was. When he wasn't overthinking or rambling, he moved as fluidly as a dancer—unafraid to take up space .

The moment the pin settled in its place, the soft, melodic croon of "Waltz of the Flowers" filled the air. The music was so… warm . Almost as warm as Felix's eyes. Or my cheeks, still flushed, as I reached for him, unable to help myself.

I latched onto his face the same way I had many times before, fingers pinching the supple skin as I leaned down to see him better.

That little mole beneath his eye taunted me, begging for kisses. His lips were still chapped, and I ached to bend down to taste them. Felix's eyes flooded with heat. Something electric zinged through my body as I stepped into his space, our toes tapping, torsos brushing.

God, he was gorgeous.

A classic sort of handsome. Timeless.

Perfection—in a world so full of flaws.

"The way you look at me is so…" Felix's lips parted, and I squished his cheeks harder till he laughed.

"So?" I wanted to bite him, he was so damn adorable. He made my teeth ache. I'd often looked at small animals and thought the same thing. Rabbits on the farm, baby calves, foals as they waddled. It was a primal feeling, wanting to tear into cute creatures. To devour them whole.

"Intoxicating," Felix admitted, voice deliciously husky.

"How do I look at you?" My hand slipped from his cheek, down his throat, caressing the cool skin as my heart threatened to pound right out of my chest .

"You look at me like you…" My thumb skimmed over his Adam's apple and he gasped, lashes fluttering.

"Like I?" I echoed, voice throaty and low.

"Like you never want to look away." That was accurate, so I didn't deny his claim. "Like I am…riveting."

"You are."

Felix flushed. His lips wobbled up, his throat bobbing beneath my hand as I gave it a gentle squeeze. He had such a long, lovely throat. I'd thought so before—but now, touching it, I knew firsthand how right I'd been.

There was no pulse fluttering beneath my fingers, which…should've struck me as odd. But in that moment, all I could think about was touching him more—about the lilting music—about the fact that there were condoms burning a hole in my pocket and I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to kiss him so badly I felt insane because of it.

I dipped my head down even more, my bangs brushing against his forehead as we shared a single, solitary breath. Barely a centimeter separated our lips and it felt like too much. Too much, too much, too much.

"You look like you want something, Marshall." Felix's voice was sweet, so fucking sweet.

I nodded, a needy sound building up in my throat as I continued to hold his neck tight. His voice vibrated against my palm, a tantalizing buzz that made me equal parts want to squeeze till he was silent, and make him speak again just so I could feel it a second time.

"Is it terribly forward of me to kiss you?" Felix asked, his lashes fluttering as he stared up at me with those luminous, lovely eyes.

Distantly, I recognized how real they looked. That they didn't look like contacts at all. But I was too distracted by his mouth and the promise of the kiss I'd been aching for, to really think too much about it.

" Please —" My voice was rough. The beast inside me clawed at its cage, whining for the gift Felix was offering. "It's not too forward. I want it. I want you so badly I—"

"Then bend down here, so I can reach."

I bent.

And Felix kissed me.

He kissed me and the world ended. Everything I'd ever known whittled away to nothing but scraps. The soft brush of Felix's lips sent me spinning. I moaned.

It was a chaste kiss.

No tongue. (Thank God. I wasn't ready to be French, just yet.)

There were only soft, flickering little brushes as he parted his lips and coaxed me to do the same. I knew I was too rigid. That I was stiff as a board—but I'd never done this. I'd never wanted to do this. I didn't know how.

There wasn't time to worry that my inexperience would be ill received. Because Felix's lips never ceased teasing mine, sweet and patient. Tender in a way I didn't know kisses could be. I ached, pressing into him with a hungry sound that made Felix shiver.

"That's it," he urged, his words fluttering between our lips. His voice vibrating my palm where it still encased his throat. "Relax for me, Marshall."

I relaxed.

As if it had been that easy all along. As if all I'd needed was Felix's gentle command to do so. Something settled inside me then. A screw that had been knocked loose so long ago I'd forgotten it had happened at all.

With a sigh, I pressed harder against him, holding his throat captive with my palm as my fingers gently pinched. Greedier, rougher , our lips slid together. Over and over, a mating dance that caused shivers to run up and down my spine.

His mouth was cool and slick. The longer we kissed, the warmer it became, almost like he was stealing my heat again. Like we were sharing it between us. And that thought—that something I exuded could become one with him was just…

" Fuck ," I hissed out, pulling away, panting.

My chest was heaving and I couldn't seem to get it to stop.

"Not today," Felix countered, voice low, as rough as my own. His eyes were dark. The pupil had swallowed them whole. "But…"

"But…?" My pulse skittered. I squeezed his neck tighter, watching his lashes flutter as a needy little moan left his lips. He melted, like butter in my grip. The tighter I squeezed, the more docile he became .

"Soon," he croaked, lashes fluttering.

Soon was now my favorite word.

Felix and I danced. We danced for hours . Well past my bedtime. The stars flickered outside his living room windows, the lamplight from the street casting an orange, homey glaze around his living room as I led him through steps I'd memorized years ago. Back and forth, swirling, dipping, gliding.

The way my mother had taught me back when I'd been young and anxious and needed a guiding hand.

We went through Felix's entire record collection. Through the old rock music he favored, through the symphonies, through Sinatra.

The cats watched us curiously, like they didn't know what to make of what we were doing. They attempted to trip me once—the bastards—but for the most part, left us alone.

And by the time I went home—dear God, who was I? Staying up this late!—I'd been touching Felix for so long his body was warm . He'd looked dazed as I paused on my way out his front door, twisting to say goodbye.

There'd been a single, awkward moment when I wasn't sure if I was allowed to kiss him again. But he quickly remedied it. Hopping onto his tiptoes, Felix pulled me down by a gentle fistful of my vest and answered my unspoken question by kissing me soundly.

"Goodnight, Marshall," he said, eyes alight.

"Goodnight, Felix. "

If he noticed it was the first time I'd used his first name, he didn't say.

I didn't either.

Some things didn't need to be said out loud.