~ Makaiyah ~

Before tonight, I never really paid attention to how beautiful humans look beneath the frosted streak of mother's bright moonlight. I've looked down at this world a few times in the evening. Catching giggling youth sneaking out of their windows on Friday nights, catching secretive lovers running away with smiles before sharing a quick kiss beneath a mountain, and even studied animals who urge their young to sleep. I didn't get to look down at the world often, but when I did, I didn't pay attention to the details.

I didn't get to watch eyelashes droop with the heavy light that catches onto them, like I am doing with Slade now, as he shares his life with me on top of a hidden cliff. His cupid's bow lips appear even more rouge in the dark, his opaque, bronze skin radiant as if he naturally draws the power from both mother and stepfather with ease. Perhaps I'm biased now, but were humans ever this interesting to look at before? Or is Slade just . . . this . . . captivating?

He released his dark waves of hair from the constraints of his braids the moment we sat down, and now I'm transfixed by the way they enhance his sharp cheekbones, his sharp jawline as they frame his face. Each perfect strand of hair glistens with magic and sparkles that makes him even more handsome to me.

When Slade looks over at me, with that bright smile shimmering with sweetness, there's an odd thump in my chest. A warmth floods my cheeks on its own accord, and I release a shaky breath to calm my nerves.

"And ever since he passed away, it's just been mom and I against the world," Slade finishes, chewing the last of his waffle cone.

I furrow my eyebrows at the twinge of sadness in his voice. "You loved him very much, your grandfather."

His rueful smile tugs at my heart. "I did," he agrees, resting his elbows on his bent knees. "He taught me everything that my father didn't, and my mother couldn't at the time. How to hunt, how to speak our language, how to dance traditionally at Powwows, and play stickball. Everything I know, I know from him."

"He sounds wonderful," I whisper, placing a comforting hand on his muscular shoulder. "I know little about the gods of the afterlife, but I hear they're lovely. And I'm more than sure your grandfather is in a place of paradise, Slade, and he is proud of the man you have become."

Slade's tender brown eyes find mine when he looks over at me, and I can't look away from them. They're so captivating and kind, I can see why that woman, Brynn, might just love him. He's smart, kind, honest, and brave. He's a genuine friend to all of those around him, and he might be the only one I'll have in my temporary stay on earth. Other than getting to know my birth father, getting to know Slade has been so much more than a gift.

"Whoa," Slade murmurs, his eyes falling to my hands that are pressed into the grass.

I follow his line of sight and blink. From my hands sprout the soft, yellow glow of the evening primrose; a flower that blossoms at night and glows in the dark. I don't know why it's growing around us now, but it must have something to do with the surge of emotion that pulsated through my body at the warmth of his gaze. Does that mean something? Should it?

He plucks one from the ground, the flower small in his large, slender hand. He draws it up between the two of us, hesitates for a moment, and then reaches out to tuck the glowering plant into my curls.

His touch is gentle as he skims over the curls on his way to bringing his hand back to his lap. The pounding in my ears grow, increasing with the heat flushing my face. Images of those secret lovers cross my mind now, and my eyes fall to his lips. I've never kissed anyone before, but the longing to has never left me. Don't I deserve to try everything at least once? Would that be so bad?

I look away from him and swallow back the nervousness I never usually feel. I tilt my head up to the moon and drink in the power it grants me, urging it to pull me into a dance. There's no music, but I've never needed it before. The soft tunes of nature are just enough.

And when the urge to dance takes over me, I stand to my feet and nudge off my shoes. Slade looks up at me, curious.

"What are you doing?" he wonders, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

"Dancing under the moon, remember?" I tease. The flowers glow brighter with each step I take, and floating around the trees are fireflies that come to life.

Reaching down, I offer an eager hand to him. He smiles and reaches up to take my hand, igniting a stream of warm butterflies in the pit of my belly as I bring him up. "Dance with me?" I whisper, squeezing his hand.

He raises a finger up to me with his free hand, pulls out his phone and swipes his thumb fast across the glowing screen, before shoving it in the front of his pocket. A soft, acoustic melody fills the silence seconds after, and when he meets my questioning gaze, he just grins.

"The song's called Iris, in case you're wondering. And yes, I'll dance with you," he says, reaching out to wrap an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him.

Smiling, I twirl in his arms and match step for step, beat to beat. Our hair twirls beneath the light of the fireflies, our feet glowing with the enchantment the flowers brought us. His fingertips burn at my waist and when he dips me back, with the tips of my hair brushing the grass, I laugh.

Slade's grin when he draws me back up is enlightening. He twirls me once and then lifts me up to the night sky where I fan my arms out and I have no choice but to strike a ballet pose that I've seen in a story about the nutcracker. I'm no longer a goddess, but a beautiful ballet dancer, dancing the night away with her mouse king.

What surprises me most is that I never want to leave this.

Especially when he brings me down and slows our waltz into a soft sway to another song I do not recognize, but love all the same.

"Can I ask you something?" he whispers. "Something that I don't want you to get mad at me for."

"Of course," I whisper back, drawing my arms around his neck. This is what I'm supposed to do, right?

His arms are warm and perfect around my body. A protective embrace that warms me from the slight chill of the night air.

"What do you think . . . about staying?" he drawls.

My heart pummels to my feet at the innocent question. "I can't stay," I breathe, my throat clogging. "I have to return to my mother."

Slade frowns, but isn't surprised by my answer.

"No, you don't," he pleads. He twirls me around and brings me back to him. "You can stay, Kaiyah. With your father and I, where you can be free to live the life you want to live. Revenge is what your mother wants for you. She needs you to get the medallion for her revenge, but how is that fair?"

"Slade . . . you know what I have to do," I choke, finding it hard to talk now. I know he's right but . . . I can't betray my own mother. Not like how my stepfather did.

"In the future, I'm sure your mother would let you come back without the medallion. He's protecting it for his father, and do you know what his father could do to him if he doesn't protect it? I know Hilo's an asshole, but I think he's not giving is up for a reason. He's scared, Kaiyah."

"I know he is. But my mother needs this!"

"No, she doesn't. You're allowed to be free, Kaiyah. You deserve that much."

I close my eyes. "And how do you know what I deserve?"

Slade presses his finger under my chin and lifts my face up, forcing my eyes open. Seeing the soft look in his eyes makes my lips wobble and my eyes sting. Is this what it feels like to be sad?

"Because, Kaiyah, I've seen the way you care about other people. About life and animals. About the entire world who doesn't deserve your kindness, but you grant it anyway. You deserve everything, even if you don't think you do," he promises, brushing his thumb against my cheek.

I don't know why I do it, but I step up onto my tippy toes and press my lips to his.

A rush of my life, a vision of my future—our future—and everything in it flashes behind my eyelids. Him winning a stickball tournament, me staying on earth cheering him on, graduating from our college, traveling, and a marriage so real and lovely, I want it more than anything. His soft, warm lips move below mine, coaxing me to stay with him. To get to know him and give up this petty search for revenge. To show that I'm worth more than what my mother is forcing me to do, and that I can be happy with him without this revenge.

"Stay with me," he whispers against my lips. His fingers trail a hot blaze along my sides and over the expanse of my back.

I have no choice but to promise him a soft, "Okay."