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"No," Cyrus replied, suddenly serious. "I have nothing in common with Nicolas Chauvin. He had a cause, a belief." |
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Kyna detected a sadness in his eyes, a vulnerability that took her by surprise. "And you have none?" |
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He couldn't answer. For it had suddenly dawned upon him that in a roomful of people and cigarette smoke and greasy food, he could smell the faint scent of musk coming from Kyna's skin. And underneath the din of rattling dishes, laughter and squealing children, he could hear the slow, steady beat, beat, beat of her heart. His eyes were riveted to his plate as he cut a large slice of steak and shoveled it into his mouth, chewing slowly, feeling the rush as the bloody juices trickled down his throat. |
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He glanced out the window. |
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The moon was just coming up over the mountains and its light spilled over the valley and trees like pale, green milk. A montage of irrational impulses swirled inside his head like leaves in a wind tunnel: can't breathe! Got to get out! Got to run. GOT TO RUN! |
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Kyna mistook his silence for shyness, but it wasn't thathe was afraid. |
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Oh my God! he thought. That doctor was wrong. There's something terribly wrong with me! |
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But the odd part was, he felt wonderful; he felt like he could climb a mountain, or run a marathon, or . . . make love to a beautiful woman. |
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Kyna watched his face closely, mentally comparing him with Bryan. Cyrus wasn't as polished as Bryan, he didn't dress as well, and he was so youngshe figured he couldn't be more than twenty-five. But she sensed something solid about Cyrus, something that she had never seen in Bryan. She felt she could trust him. And in Kyna's experience, trust was harder to come by than gold. |
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Her eyes followed the curve of his jaw as he chewed, the hair on his arm as it disappeared under the rolled-up cuff of his shirt. She noted the way his eyes crinkled in pleasure as he swallowed. |
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