Read Online The Last Twilight by Marjorie M. Liu - Free Book Online

life. You helped me. And this is what you get.”
    His frown deepened. “You misunderstand me. Thanks and apologies are unnecessary. I did not save your life. Quite the opposite, given our current circumstances.”
    Rikki hesitated. “The crocodile might not agree.”
    But Amiri shook his head, as though it meant nothing. Like crocodiles were small things. She wished she could feel that way. Teeth still filled her head. Teeth and fire. Swallowing water fresh with bobbing bloody corpses.
    Raw memories. Rikki tried to hold it together, but it was not her night. A violent shudder tore through her body, shaking her from head to toe. Filling her with a chill so profound she imagined her bones were knitted from ice cubes. Her teeth rattled. Fingers dug into her thighs. She could not stop quaking.
    Amiri watched. Rikki forced herself to meet his gaze, daring him to say something. She hoped he would. All she needed was an excuse. Any excuse. Maybe then she would stop finding him so mesmerizing.
    But he surprised her, again. She watched, suspicious and confused, as he slid off his cot and walked to one of the large plastic tubs stacked against the sheeting. He peeled back a lid and pulled out a folded blanket. Shook it loose, and before she could protest, was at her side, throwing the soft cotton over her shoulders like a cape. He tucked the edges around her legs.
    Rikki never felt the weight of his hands. A light touch, delicate; it was in sharp contrast to his size, the strength she remembered so well, sharper still to the heaviness of his golden gaze, which held an odd mix of melancholy and determination. Hooks in her heart; like an echo resounding. His eyes were a mirror. All Rikki could do was stare.
    Amiri’s fingers grazed her jaw. “I should call for someone.”
    Hot. Each breath felt hot. Her lungs burned. Rikki stopped shaking, but only just. She clutched the soft blanket closer. “It’s nothing. But thank you.”
    He shrugged and sat back on his cot, watching her carefully. “Are you warmer now?”
    She nodded, mute, and he looked away. Seemed to hesitate, to hold his breath. He sat so still he hardly seemed human. His face and body were too perfect, warm and dark and shimmering with gold. But then he sighed, and the spell broke, and Rikki blinked, hard, fighting herself as he said, “You believe we are sick.”
    “Yes.” She could not lie.
    His calm never faltered. “And that we might die?”
    “It’s possible.”
    “How much time do we have?”
    “Not enough.”
    “So, it will be fast. When it happens.”
    “It was for everyone else, as far as we can tell.”
    Amiri gave her a long, assessing, look. “You have seen this before?”
    “Not this.” She hesitated. “Maybe I’ll take notes.”
    “Ever the scientist?”
    She felt a smile creep on her face. “Just bored.”
    He laughed—a low sound, almost a rumble, a purr. “You are too intelligent for boredom.”
    Heat suffused her face. “And you?”
    “I am quite intelligent,” he replied, slyly.
    Rikki mock-kicked him, still trying not to smile. “That’s not what I meant.”
    Amiri leaned away, holding up his hands. “Boredom is a state of mind I have never attained. It is too much like deep meditation. Mindless. Ineffectual. Reading is much better.”
    “There are no books here.”
    “Ah.” He tapped his head. “But there you are wrong.”
    Rikki bit her bottom lip, but it was no use. Something was bubbling inside her chest, something bigger and fiercer than fear, and it was full of sunlight and warmth and some deep song that rumbled and rumbled and pulled her under, tumbling her, softening her, soothing her cold heart with a gentle, gentle, hand. She smiled. She smiled like she meant it, and she did. It was the best damn smile she had felt in years, and it was natural, easy.
    But it did not last. Not for her, and not for him. Amiri’s mouth hardened, becoming somber, contemplative; and in his eyes, a sharp restlessness. Even