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From now until the end of time, when the blood moon rises in the sky every one hundred years, nature will demand the joining of Darrow and D’Arcy. Those chosen will be marked by the fates. Should either refuse, by the time the cycle has ended, both lives will be taken as payment. The key to both your salvation and damnation relies on a fragile balance of power between your descendents and those of your Vampyre foe.”
Staring into his eyes was like getting lost in the night sky.
I wasn’t afraid of dying; I was afraid of not living.
It smelled like Rion—sensual, old, and expensive—like a rare book.
Whatever this was between us needed to stop. I warred with infatuation and infuriation, unsure of which to act upon or what I truly felt.
But the word ‘should’ was where dreams went to die. It was a dangerous complication that prevented me from standing up to the worst voice living freely in my mind.
“What about all the nights you spent out of the house?” His forehead touched my own. “It was so I would not crawl into your bed as you have crawled under my skin.”
I only know that I can no longer imagine a world where you do not exist.”
But maybe this was what falling felt like—an absolutely maddening sensation of not knowing which way was up or if my feet were on the ground.
It would live within us forever. That was the shitty thing about grief. It could hit you at any time and without warning.
A single tear fell down his cheek, which neither of us moved to wipe away. That wasn’t how pain worked. You couldn’t simply wipe the slate clean and start over. It lingered.
My name was a chant on his lips, a prayer from a man stranded in a drought. I was his rain. I was his salvation. I was his everything.
We were lost souls adrift, searching for someone to understand, finding it in the most unlikely places.
