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August 15 - August 18, 2024
“Do you intend on telling her about the proph—” “No,” I snap. “There will be no speak of Gods under this roof. Or anything that might lead her toward the truth.” No child should be forced to bear that weight.
“I am her roof—the shadow that dims her light and keeps the world from seeing that mark on her fucking shoulder. Nothing more.”
“I’ll protect her. Give her the tools to protect herself. I’ll be her fucking storm if I have to. She’ll want for nothing—always. I can do all that without being involved.”
“How did you stumble upon the frayed thread that unraveled my entire species?” “Fate.”
Orlaith has no idea what’s about to hit her—a man who knows the sour taste of loss hell bent on twisting fate to his own fucking will.
Truth is, I fell in love with a ghost. Now I’m gone and still ... haunted.
Everywhere I look I see him: in the stormy clouds that won’t stop dumping on us; in the chill wind nipping at my blanched knuckles; in the waiting darkness between the trees. I’m haunted.
Little does she know, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Except let her go.
“I won’t determine your steps, Milaje. I’ll even let you trip. But I refuse to let you fall.”
“There is nowhere you can hide. Nowhere you can go. Even if this were to stop beating,” he says, threading his hand over my rioting heart, “I’d follow.”
“I value the honesty. Especially in a world where lies are used as currency.”
“You are light, my love. Light and life and all that is good.” He sets his hands around mine, his touch warm and grounding, palms smooth. “That is what you cling to.”
He just burned me … Soldered my cupla in place … Turned it into a shackle …
What I regret is letting her believe she doesn’t hold my cold, crippled heart in the palm of her hand. Because she does. She always will.
She nuzzles deeper into my chest, her tremble melting away when I drag my nose up the length of her middle finger. Kiss the tip. “That boy became a man with nothing left to lose,” I murmur, planting a kiss on the tips of her two smallest fingers. “Until he did.”
“I’ll never stop hunting this pulse.” He presses a kiss against my neck that burns like an icy brand.
“You’re going to go to war with him? Over me?” He doesn’t blink or flinch. “I’d strike the fucking world down for you.”
His features harden. Sharpen.
“Your monster,” he whispers, and I draw a staggered breath. Hold it. Leaning close, his icy exhale pours over me, fingers threading through my hair, tugging me close, fitting me against him so perfectly—as though we’re bound together by something greater than ourselves. “Just yours.”
What have I done?
