Free Breathless by Cole Gibsen

overturned bottle of ink, and I knew.
    He was here.

Chapter 10
    I sat up, gasping. The stranger stumbled back a step.
    A quick glance at the clock told me it was two AM. Suddenly, this was no longer the bril iant idea I’d thought it to be. I couldn’t face the shadowy figure alone in the dark! What if he was here to kil me?
    The fine hair on the back of my neck raised as my hands began to tremble. Stupid, stupid Edith .
    The stranger took two cautious steps forward and tapped on the glass pane again.
    I whimpered before shrinking back against the headboard and raising the covers to my chin.
    He spoke, his voice muffled, yet oddly familiar. “On my word, you are safe with me.”
    His voice was low and smooth, like a bow drawn across the strings of a cel o. I knew I’d heard it before . . . but where? The covers slipped from my chin and pooled around my waist. I narrowed my eyes, hoping that would al ow me to make out the distorted shape behind the glass. It didn’t.
    Curiosity pierced me like a fishing hook and pul ed me forward. Slowly, I peeled my comforter back and slipped my bare feet onto the floor. Not feeling particularly stable, I curled my toes into the carpet for support.
    I took a step forward then stopped. What was I doing?
    As if sensing my doubt, the stranger stepped away from the door and held his arms wide, indicating his wil ingness to give me space.
    His gesture worked to unwind the locks on my bones and pul them into movement. One step. Then another. The closer I came to the door, the more difficult it was to breathe until I stood before the glass gasping for air.
    “What do you want?” I whispered.
    The stranger had backed into the shadow cast by the house, yet I could see something glinting silver in the moonlight. A weapon?
    “To talk.”
    I knew that voice, thick like a pool of chocolate syrup. It was the voice of the boy from the beach. The one who’d pul ed me from the ocean.
    Bastin.
    Before I knew what I was doing, I flicked open the lock. A cool breeze greeted me, fluttering the hair across my face. I tucked the ends behind my ears.
    “Thank you,” he said, stil hidden in the shadows.
    I said nothing, only stepped outside, slid the door shut, and leaned against it.
    Bastin stayed hidden a moment longer, as if deciding. Final y, he stepped out of the shadows, and I was glad that I’d shut the door. Otherwise, the cry that tore from my throat would have certainly woken Sir.
    The boy that stood before me was unlike any I’d ever seen. He wore only a pair of beaten up cut-off jeans. A curtain of silver hair cascaded over one shoulder, ending at his knees. Only it wasn’t the same silver-grey like the roots of my mom’s hair before her monthly dye job. His hair was the shining metal ic of tinsel on a Christmas tree. But unlike tinsel, when he tossed his head, it swayed like a silk curtain down his back.
    “Please don’t be frightened,” he said.
    I tried to answer him but my words tangled into a gurgle. I coughed to loosen the knot and tried again. “I’m sorry, but your hair—” My words trailed off as he took a step forward and the shadows were peeled back from his face.
    His eyes held only night.
    Two black orbs gazed at me. He licked his lips and blinked repeatedly, an action too impossibly fast to be human. I clung to the door handle, trying to think, trying to make sense of what I saw. The hair couldn’t be real—probably a wig. And his eyes . . . maybe he had a medical condition?
    Or real y freaky contact lenses?
    The boy took another step forward and blinked another inhuman blink. “I’m sorry for startling you tonight and the nights before. I—” He tilted his head toward the sky as if the right answer might fal from the moon itself. “I needed to talk to you. I wouldn’t have put you through al the stress if it hadn’t been important.” He lowered his head and directed his onyx eyes at me.
    “Important?” I focused my attention on the sharp lines along his