"I gave it all up; my chi, my place, my legend and legacy among the star signs of Zodiac." She swiped a damp tendril of hair from her forehead as she came to a stop in front of him. She ignored his blatant anger as he ignored the bitterness coating her words, and reached out to take his icy hands in hers. They felt wonderfully cool in her sweaty palms, and she lifted them gently and dropped them around her neck like an executioner's noose. She shrugged in the confused silence. "What is my life in comparison? Take it, as I took Wyatt's. Because I no longer want anything to do with this world if I don't also have your love."
For a moment his face remained impassive, a blank slate. She thought he was making her wait, prolonging the moment, making her suffer. But then that petrified stare twisted, first with fury, then anguish, and finally a wild and open need. Those icy fingers splayed wide, bracing her from her hairline to the base of her sweaty neck, slipped lower to her collarbone, beneath her shirt, rising to grasp her damp shoulders. He pulled her to him so quickly she lost her breath, and continued to fight for air as his icy lips found her heated ones, cold tongue probing in her warm mouth. She managed one great inhale of that icy breath, and it shot through her like quicksilver, freezing her lungs, and then she was kissing him back, pouring heat into him, both of them fighting for balance, and equilibrium. They clung to one another the same way they both clung to life, with a greedy and self-centered zeal, a perfect match in that respect.
When Zoe finally opened her eyes again, she gasped aloud. There was the man she loved.
It was Warren's face she caressed, the homeless mien she'd seen most recently. His cheeks were the ones she lovingly ran her smooth-tipped fingers over, catching on the stubble, curving at the jaw. They were his lips that her eyes caught upon and his Adam's apple bobbing under the weight of her gaze. It was Warren alone that she saw, even as soulless black eyes flared beneath the bones.
"You do love me," she told him, her whisper choked with tears and truth. "And I love you. And living without that love is a far worse fate than any momentary pain. I welcome death over the half-life I've been living. I'll burn, and I'll do it with your name on my lips."
The Warren-face winced.
"And my bed?" he rasped, the Tulpa's icy breath blowing her hair back again from her shoulders. It felt like a welcoming spring breeze. "Do you return there willingly as well?"
"Not just willingly," she whispered back, her eyes drinking him in as her hands moved lower. "Desperately."
She didn't add that she'd have to be desperate to return to him at all. He had immediately turned and she was too busy following and reimagining him, erasing Warren's image before anyone else caught sight of him. And too busy wiping away her tears. If only she'd said those words to Warren while she'd still had the chance.
It was only after she'd already gone through with the unthinkable, allowing him on top of her and inside of her as she had all those years ago—that he wanted to talk. Zoe was huddled beneath the covers, shivering with cold from her core on out, though she told the Tulpa it had to do with relief… and because she'd barely touched her food earlier. So he brought the cornucopia she'd made to their bed, the gesture showing Zoe how much he wanted to trust her again. The sentiment made her smile wobbly, and moistened her eyes. He was like one of the children he stole off the streets, curious and hopeful… and so very gullible.
"The timing is curious, though," he was saying, as he popped a ripened fig into his mouth. He was propped up beside her on his elbow as she lay with her dark hair splayed on his pillow, her image reflected back at herself from above.
It turned out it wasn't only his reflection he liked to watch in the mirror.
"What's curious about wanting to be with the one you love on the holidays," Zoe said, running a hand along the fine hairs of his arm. He fed her a blood-red berry, approval in his eyes as he watched her eat, and she nibbled lightly on his fingertips. "It's a time to be with family. I wanted to come home."
"I don't mean that." He smiled down at her, looking infinitely younger. "I mean that after years of no word or sighting of you, you pop up after reports of your capture and death."
She had no idea what had been reported back to him, so kept her response deliberately vague. "I told you. I've been trying to find a way back to you for a long time now. If I've been sighted lately it's because I've been working toward that. Toward this."
He almost grinned as she continued to stroke him, but shook his head. "Not a sighting of you, not like this. Reports had you posing as a young girl who was caught and killed in the desert."