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She buried her face into the crook of his throat. “You came.” “You called,” he answered.
“Ophelia.” His tone was firm now. “You don’t need to fix yourself. You’re not broken. But it’s okay to get outside help if it gets too loud.”
With Blackwell, he’d made it clear there was nothing she felt like she needed to hide. He’d seen some of the worst parts of her already, and by the end of this, she was sure he’d see it all. The woman. The Necromancer. The monster.
She cleared her throat. “Is it okay if I—” “You can do anything you want, angel,” he inserted, voice gruff. “I’d let you drag me to the depths of Hell right now if that would please you.”
“I am not your angel, but I will be your nightmare. If you sabotage my chance of getting my sister back, I will find a way to haunt you until every single one of your inner demons looks like me. You will never know a moment of peace again.”
“The last real conversation we had, you were very upset with me,” he reasoned. “You’re only doing this because of what happened in that trial. You only ever want me after near-death experiences.” “So?” He leaned down until their eyes were level. “So, maybe I don’t want to just be a distraction to you.”
“We’re supposed to have a bond,” she sniffled. “That’s the deal. I call, you come.”
“I need you to know if I had heard you, there would have been nothing that could’ve stopped me from getting to you.
“In a different life, in a fair one, I would’ve kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust,” he vowed to her.
“In all the darkness, in all the loneliness, you have been my one source of light,” he lamented as she began to come undone. “My soul will go to its grave with your name echoing in my mind.”
