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What kind of idiot brought the most beautiful girl to a tawdry, cacophonous party like this and deserted her? If only he knew there were monsters out there, waiting for their turn.
“You’re beautiful, little lamb. Everyone in that room noticed you.” He smiled. “I’d wager everyone in any room notices you.”
“I followed you in here because you looked lonely. I followed you in here because you’re beautiful, and I like beautiful things.” A pause, and then the rest slipped out of him: “I followed you in here because I’m lonely too.”
Maybe she did know him. In a past life, or in dreams, or in something else that seemed impossible but true at the same time.
Wanting him didn’t scare her, didn’t feel impulsive or shameful or dangerous. It simply felt inevitable.
Madness, he thought to himself. This is what madness feels like, to want to exist in a moment that isn’t reality. And what a relief it was to know that he couldn’t fall in love with her, was incapable of it, because if this was a fraction of love, he would never be able to let her out of his sight.
“How old are you?” He looked surprised; obviously this wasn’t where he expected her to start. “Twenty-five.” And she’d expected him to be honest. “Yes, but how long have you been twenty-five?” Brigan grinned, saying cheekily, “A while.” A laugh burst out of Cat’s throat. “Is this your way of admitting to me that you’ve read Twilight?”
“I’m doomed to walk the earth, alone and immortal, until my beloved finds me and rescues me.”
“If I’d given you another, what was your final question going to be?” he asked her, his voice hoarse with emotion. Catalina looked up at him, her eyes adoring and concerned. “I was going to ask you whether you could fly.” He could; he could fly and glide and soar and dive, but right in that moment, with his soul and heart returned to him, with Catalina standing before him and their future spreading out ahead like a vibrant, luxurious tapestry, Brigan could only fall to his knees.