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What exactly does that say about me? A truly feral, vicious beast took one look at me and thought, That one. I’ll take that one.
His gaze is even more intimate than a touch, though, and I want to curl up. Maybe in his arms, maybe just to die.
“You’re right. We need to keep talking and we’re drawing attention.” Stark’s hand closes around my wrist like an iron vise. “Dance with me.” My thoughts stutter to a stop. I look at his hand, then back into his eyes. Surely, I didn’t hear that right. I find my voice. “No, thank y—” He yanks me onto the crowded dance floor. “Wasn’t a request, princess.”
“This friendship thing, this is new to me. I know how to be a sister, a daughter, a lover, a fighter. I didn’t realize that being a friend meant something different.”
“You were born to lead, girl. Whether or not you believe that is of no consequence anymore. You must, so you will.”
“If you’re going to be reckless, princess, at least let me keep you alive.”
I almost forgot how devastating grief is. How it leaves you husked and raw, but never numb. The pain is like a gaping wound—one no dressing can cover, no shield can truly protect. The agony of it might lessen, but it never truly leaves.
Grief has layers and layers: sadness, bitterness, guilt, regret…
I saw him this time. Really saw him. I know I did. I can still conjure the jagged edge of his mask when it broke in two.
To the rest of the world, I was a fearsome alley cat, but to him… only a pathetic little kitten.
