Chapter 34: The Shadow of Your Love - The Shadow of a Vicious King

POV: MAX

The tavern room is barely more than a box. It’s made of four pale plank walls, a low ceiling, and a narrow bed tucked in the corner. The mattress is thin, stuffed with uneven straw, but the ticking is clean, and the seams are still tight. A fresh sheet and folded duvet lay neatly on top.

I close the door behind me and take it all in. It’s bare necessities only, but a welcome reprieve. After today, this place feels like an oasis. Small and safe and ours.

A desk-like table stands beneath the window, holding a basin of water, a few folded rags, and a bar of soap. A dented bucket waits by the door.

“Not as fancy or romantic as a man would hope, but hey, it’s our first weekend away together,” E jokes, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“Lucky for you, I’m low maintenance,” I answer, setting my backpack down underneath the table.

The floor is clean, and the wood hasn’t darkened yet, showing no signs of wear and tear. This tavern was built recently for a specific purpose. It’s clearly a place for travelers to pass through, but not to stay long-term.

Warm air slips in through the narrow cracks between the planks, carrying the scent of wet leaves and crushed grass.

Outside the checkered window, a handful of tents housing the Tidecallers are visible. Clothing lines hang on the opposite side of small campfires, and the sight takes me back to the Red Forest, to witches’ huts with crooked beams and dirt floors, where luxury was scarce, but comfort was paramount.

I set down a bowl of water and half a cup of food for Lady, who slips out of the carrier with a curious meow.

She makes a slow circuit of the room, sniffing the corners, before claiming the windowsill, her tail flicking in judgment as she watches the Tidecallers below.

My mouth is dry, my nerves playing harp strings through my gut. I remember vividly what happened this morning, and as much as it unsettles me, I’m already breathless, flushed, and aching at the thought of spending the night alone in a room with my ghost. But no matter how intoxicating his touch is, how easily he unravels me, I need a clear head. The visions brought on by the venom raised too many questions.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “There’s something we need to discuss before⁠—”

“Before I kiss you senseless?” E rasps, and a nervous laugh slips out of me.

“Yes.”

Come on, focus. “Is it possible— Did you know my mother?”

I stare at the place his eyes should be. I’d give anything to see them. Anything. If I could see his eyes, I’m sure I could read the truth in them, whether he remembers it or not.

The silence stretches.

“You know I can’t recall any details of my life,” he finally answers.

Guilt pinches at my insides. I’m not saying he’s lying, but this matters, and it’s one more instance where his amnesia becomes annoying as fuck.

“I know. But instinctively?”

“What brought this on?” he asks quietly.

“A dream,” I mutter. “A series of vivid, messed-up dreams. And today, the venom…” I swallow hard. “I think I saw you…having sex with my mother.”

There. I said it. Ew.

“What?” he chokes out, properly horrified, which does bring me a sliver of relief.

“No. I would never—” He cuts himself off, like he’s just remembered that he doesn’t know what he would or wouldn’t have done. “You don’t think I’m your⁠—”

“No. No, no, no.” I shake my head with a sour grimace, my gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. But you can’t be my father. I have no Bloodsinger blood, remember? So it’s actually impossible for us to be closely related.”

Silver fucking linings.

“Hey.” He closes his hands around mine. “I want you to tell me everything. The visions, the dreams, all of it. We’ll figure it out together, alright?”

He pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping tight around me, solid and careful all at once. He doesn’t push it further. Just holds me.

“Alright,” I squeak.

Well. That revelation definitely killed our this-is-moving-too-fast problem. He’s not in the mood to kiss me senseless anymore, and my heart gives a regretful squeeze.

“There’s this man who comes to me in the Dreaming almost every night.”

“What man?” His fingertips dig into my back, but he keeps his voice smooth as he asks, “Who is he?”

I take an awkward step back. “I think he’s you, actually.”

“You think? Or you know? What does he want? Do you spend all night talking, or—” E cuts himself off again. “Never mind. I’m so fucking jealous of him,” he admits on a growl.

“He’s jealous of you, too.” A small smile curls my lips. “But I think he’s you because he calls me little fox, and with him, I feel safe.”

His voice drops an octave. “Keep saying things like that.”

“I thought I was reliving parts of my past, but if I’m right, it means I might have met you as a kid and forgotten about it. This man with my mother has your hair. And your wings.” My eyes dart down. “So unless you’ve got a twin…”

It’s entirely possible E knew my mother. Maybe he didn’t sell her out to the Reds. Maybe they were in love, and he died before she did.

What a scary thought.

“It’s not me.” His tone hardens, like he’s certain of that much.“You’re not old enough for me to have known you before I died. I haunted Mabel through the eighties, remember?”

I nod emphatically, grateful for the lifeline. “By the Dark One, I forgot! You were already dead when I was a child.”

I exhale in relief, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.

“Tell me more about him,” he presses on.

The implication that someone else has become my dream lover clearly doesn’t sit any better with him, but I can’t stop smiling.

“After I get these weird visions of my past, I end up on this cloudy, beautiful cliff where he makes love to me…” Heat crawls up my neck. “I can never see his face clearly in either scenario. Ugh, it’s so confusing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?” he asks, a hint of disappointment sharpening his tone.

I sit on the twin bed, and he sits beside me, the straw-stuffed mattress rustling softly beneath our combined weight.

“The dreams and visions have become more vivid over the last couple of nights. And the venom shook something loose in my head.” I hesitate, caressing the thin duvet cover, surprised to find it soft and pliable.

“I didn’t like how that dark Fae was looking at you, earlier. Luther, was it?” he asks, as though identifying the man in my dreams comes second to getting me out of harm’s way. “You’re still weak from the bite. What if the Lord of the Tides turns out to be a world-class fucker? There’s still time to change your mind about going with them tomorrow.”

He obviously hates the idea of me joining the Tidecallers in an attack, but we didn’t come to Faerie to hide.

I grip the edge of the mattress with both hands. “Luther said a group of witches was in imminent danger. Nick won’t be convinced to stay out of it, and if he’s going, I’m going with him.”

“What happened with your mother?” E asks softly. “Why is Nick holding something over you? Do you feel responsible for her death?”

“Oh, no.” I chew on my bottom lip. “My mother was killed in a raid planned by the Reds. There wasn’t anything we could do. Nick… Nick was talking about Riley.”

I grimace just saying the name.

“Was Riley your boyfriend?” E asks. “When you told me about stopping painting and not finishing the King of Wands, I got the sense you might have been…thwarted in love.”

My brows rise. “Oh, I was betrayed, alright, but not by a man.”

I stare through the window, where night is settling over the rebel camp and oil lamps flicker to life between the tents.

“Riley was a girl I met at university. Keep in mind, Nick begrudged me for even going. He was obsessed with traveling the world. He said he wanted to save witches, but really, he was running away from Mabel, so he could find our mother’s killer without her getting involved.”

My eyes dart to the ceiling, and I clear my throat. “Anyway, he bolted right after high school, and that really gutted me. I met Riley at orientation. We were two eighteen-year-olds fresh out of secondary school, suddenly attending this illustrious institution. She was an orphan, too, and she told me she’d been living alone since she was sixteen because her stepfather had abused her.”

A bitter laugh escapes me.

“She twisted her words carefully, feeding me that tragic backstory little by little, just enough to gain my trust. She made me work for it, too, so I never suspected anything. She presented herself as someone who worked better alone, someone guarded and difficult to get close to.”

My throat bobs.

“She made it feel like I was the one doing the pushing. Like I was the one choosing her.”

I stare at my hands.

“And all the while, she was weaseling and prodding her way into my heart until she became my best friend. I couldn’t tell her the truth about my past, obviously, or about Nick and me being twins. But I mentioned I had a foster brother and complained about Mabel and her strict rules. I was so alone out there, away from home—from Nick—for the first time. I was desperate.”

E links our fingers softly.

If anyone understands exactly how much loneliness can hurt, it’s him.

“We became inseparable, so much so that we had plans to move in together for our second year, and I invited her home for the summer break.”

He rests our joined hands in his lap. “To meet your family?”

I nod. “Mabel had reluctantly agreed. Riley had become my first real friend. For the first time in my life, I felt young. Normal. My life was a series of coffee runs before lectures, studying in the park, Riley reading flash cards to me while I painted. We took long walks on the trails, gossiping about boys and sexual fantasies…”

“And you loved her.”

“I did.” I swallow hard.

“Were you two involved?”

“Not like that,” I say quickly. “But I admit, I did flirt with the possibility. Our friendship became so intense, so symbiotic, I couldn’t imagine life without her.”

My foolishness tastes rotten now.

“I loved who I was with her. University was a fresh start. I never fit in during high school, even after years living among mortals. Riley made ordinary things feel easy and magical.” I bite back a cringe. “But Nick didn’t buy it for a second.”

E chuckles quietly. “Brother bear saw right through her, did he?”

“My pathologically distrustful brother,” I correct, “who had already scared off a couple of harmless boyfriends, showed up unannounced before our final exams because he wanted to, quote, unquote, meet her first.”

“And?”

I shudder, the sting of it still too raw. “Nick has a knack for noticing small things. Tiny inconsistencies. A suspicious leaning question. A look that lasts too long. He told me Riley wasn’t who she claimed to be—that she’d gotten close to me on purpose.”

“But you didn’t believe him.”

Shame flushes my neck. “Unfortunately…no. I thought he was sabotaging the first real friendship I’d ever had because he hated the mortal world and hated that I wanted a place in it.”

“That must have been very hard to hear. And excuse me for saying so, but your brother isn’t the most tactful person.”

My lips quirk. “But then Riley became awfully curious. She asked him about foster care and remarked on how serendipitous it was that we had the same eyes.” I play with the end of my braid. “Nick heard all of that and confronted her, pulling a dagger on her right then…” I wince. “And she fled straight through her bedroom mirror.”

Silence stretches between us.

“I transferred schools within weeks and doubled down on my studies. Longer hours at the library, no more painting, and less magic.”

“Why less magic?”

“Because magic used to feel private.” I drag my thumb over the bloodmark on my arm back and forth. “After Riley, every spell felt like opening a door for her, or someone just like her who might be lurking beyond the mirror.”

E brings the underside of my wrist to his lips and places a slow, reverent kiss there. “Max, you don’t have to go looking for her tomorrow—or ever. I almost lost you today, little fox. I’m not ready to live through that again.”

He’s not wrong. Any Red Fae is Riley in my book, and some secret part of me longs for revenge. Even finding my mother’s murderer—tracking Lillivere—isn’t quite as appealing.

With Riley, it’s more personal.

“I still can’t believe you flew us over here,” I say, eager to switch to a less painful subject. “Are your wings here now? I mean, did you only just realize you had them when I pointed it out, or were they—I don’t know—dormant?”

I extend a hand toward his back, but find only the smooth expanse of skin, muscle, and shoulder blades.

“They weren’t there when we stepped through the passage, and they’re not here now, but I think I can summon them as needed.”

“Try it,” I say eagerly. “Try and summon them.”

“Alright.”

He stands and walks to the center of the small room.

The shift in the air is subtle at first. I don’t see them rise, but I hear them unfurl behind him in a soft, careful, almost reluctant manner.

I rise to my feet and search the air tentatively until I find them, my fingers trembling. My breath stutters as I slide my hand along the span of his right wing. The outer feathers are long and smooth, firm beneath my fingers. Closer in, they soften into a thicker, warmer layer.

My stomach flip-flops.

“They’re…beautiful.” I wet my lips, both of my hands now moving over his wings, slower now, learning the shape of them, mapping them out with a touch that isn’t as innocent as I pretend it is.

Jealousy and wonder mingle in my blood as I reach the place where the wings attach to his body. At the base, my fingertips sink into a dense layer of soft down feathers, and E lets out a low, unsteady groan.

I trace the narrow strip of skin running between his wings down his spine to the hem of his pants. The fabric is brittle beneath my touch, and I realize my fire burned through his clothes the same way it did mine.

I hook one finger in the hole right above his buttocks. “You let yourself burn for me.” The words come out shaky as hell. “Why?”

His wings vanish with a soft ruffling sound, and he spins around, his hands traveling up my arms.

“Fire can’t hurt me, Max. But I do burn for you.”

He dips down for a kiss, but I raise a hand to his torso.

“Wait.”

He stops an inch short of my mouth, his breath ghosting over my lips.

“What if you’re married?” I squeak.

“What if I’m not? What if I was meant to meet you all along? What if you die tomorrow?” his thumb caresses my cheek. “What-ifs are the single most dangerous mind-fuck there is, because you can twist them to fit any narrative. I’m here with you now, and I want you, and I think you want me. If you don’t want us to kiss, then say it. I will respect your choice, but don’t hide behind what-ifs, little fox.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“So tell me the truth. Not the careful version. Not the reasonable one.” His voice drops to a husky drawl. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

I bite my bottom lip, standing on my tiptoes to bridge the distance between us. “Fuck, yes.”

He smiles against my mouth, and I’m smiling too, giddy and breathless and so full of him I could burst.

His kiss steals the air from my lungs, all pent-up hunger and relief. His large hands cradle my face before traveling up and down the length of my arms.

“Here. Let me.” He pulls on the hem of my shirt and passes it over my head.

After slipping one strap of my black satin bra down my shoulders to kiss the skin underneath, he claims my mouth again, and a thrill shoots through me.

“You don’t mess around, do you?” I breathe against his lips.

“I have spent too long as an incorporeal ghost. Don’t ask me to act like I’m not starving.”

His mouth dips to my neck, his warm kisses leaving delicious bruises in their wake, enough to make me shiver, and I tip my head back with a shaky sound.

“I would rather be the worst mistake you ever make than not know the taste of you, and while your gorgeous head doubts and pretends to put up a fight, I know you’re already soaking wet for me.”

He slips a hand down my stomach and under the elastic of my pants, gliding over the lace and growling with pride. “Here, see? Fucking glistening from just one kiss.”

My head spins.

“I want you bare and breathless, Max. And I won’t stop until I get what I want. Will you let me play with your beautiful body, little fox?”

“Yes.”

He unhooks my bra in one fluid motion and peels the fabric off me like I’m a present he couldn’t wait to unwrap, and I shudder all over.

Cold air hits my breasts, and my chest heaves, my fingers digging into the grooves and lines of his shoulders. His arms are so big, his muscles so defined and bold, it’s hard to believe he couldn’t lift anything for decades. Death somehow preserved him beyond the impossible, and I can’t see him, but I let my other senses guide me.

His skin tastes of salt, burnt cotton, and fallen leaves. Absolutely glorious. I kiss a fiery path down his pecs and abdominal wall, enjoying the rise and fall of his ragged breaths.

Then he finds the end of my braid and works it loose, unraveling it strand by strand until my red curls spill freely around my face.

“You’re a goddess, Max,” he murmurs.

Fae can’t lie, but it’s a gross exaggeration. Still, I feel like his goddess as he combs through my hair, maps the freckles scattered over my chest, and explores the hollow above my collarbone.

The touch of his hands is akin to warm honey being smeared across my skin, leaving behind nothing but the sweet sting of sunlight. He cups my breasts in turn, guiding them to his mouth, licking, sucking, and defiling them.

My lids flutter. “Oh, fuck.”

I shudder, the sensation overwhelming.

“Such beauty requires proper worship.” He squeezes them together, then apart, then together again until I’m panting.

The peaks harden past the point of pain as he tortures me with his mouth, the rough pads of his thumbs apparently made to bring a woman to her knees.

I wrap my arms around him and grab a fist of his hair to anchor myself, my heart pounding between my legs. He walks me backward towards the bed, our half-parted mouths meeting again, melding, battling each other in search of a longer and deeper kiss. I fall onto the mattress with a startled laugh that dies in my throat as he follows, bracing himself over me.

His tongue dips inside my belly button, his hands curling around the back of my underwear and pants before he peels them off. My mouth parts on a silent sigh as he works the stretchy fabric past the bend in my knees and around my calves, and throws the clothes on the ground.

A rumble of approval simmers at the back of his throat as I lie bare beneath him, my knees pointing at the ceiling and his strong hands rooting my hips to the mattress.

“Oh, you’re fucking perfect.” He rubs my thighs up and down. “Now spread your legs.”

He doesn’t wait for me to obey and parts my knees in a single motion that reeks of passion and impatience, and the heartbeat between my legs radiates outward. The hollow space inside me clenches, aching to be filled.

I feel crudely exposed but intoxicatingly warm, as though the sun itself is shining on the most intimate parts of me.

A dark, filthy sun.

My breaths are quick and heavy as E kisses my inner thigh, up, up, up until he reaches my maddeningly needy, pulsating core. He blows cold air over it and chuckles as I cry out, his playfulness and cruelty on full display.

“You’re mine, Max. And now you’re going to come so hard on my tongue and make such a mess for me because that’s what I want. Because nothing else in this world will sate my thirst. I’m going to drink your sweet pussy in until you see stars,” he promises on a hushed breath. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

I nod, but he bites my inner thigh hard enough to leave a mark. “I want to hear the words, Max.”

“I’m yours.”

“And?”

“And you’re thirsty for me, so I’m going to give you what you want and come harder on your tongue than I’ve ever come before.”

He smiles wickedly against my flesh. “Good, little fox. You get me. Now, close your eyes.”

He reaches up and runs soft fingers over my closed lids, then grips my breast possessively on his way down, his other arm curling around my thigh to keep it open.

Anticipation thickens my blood, the pulse between my legs taking on a life of its own.

The first touch of his tongue is so insanely well-placed that tears sting my eyes. He starts with low, careful caresses at my entrance and away from that sweet bundle of nerves that would explode if he so much as brushed it.

He hums, alternating blunt strokes with softer ones, eating me up and killing me with his tongue. The pressure radiating outward from my neglected, greedy core builds and builds, rising higher, pushing me further.

Unmoved by my nonsensical pleading noises, my ghost holds my thighs open without mercy, forcing me to suffer the brunt of his delicate laps until I’m so high, I can’t remember my own name.

There’s something about his confidence that strips me of my usual hesitation, my self-consciousness. I want to please my ghost, and if it pleases him to see me utterly and completely destroyed by his tongue, then that’s what he shall have. My back arches off the mattress.

He rubs, rubs, rubs that sweet spot, and it hurts so sweet it devours.

“Trust me. Don’t fight it.”

I come hard, fulfilling his fantasies and more, but somehow, I’m not soothed. I want more.

The sound of fabric shuffling causes my walls to clench around emptiness. E spreads me for him, the urgency giving way to a softer, more reverent side of him.

A pang of regret cramps my gut. I wish I could see him, in this moment, looking down at me.

“Penny for your thought?” I whisper.

A dark chuckle grates his throat. “It’s my first time. I want to commit it to memory.”

“Your first time that you remember,” I correct him playfully, tracing the sparse path of hair between his pecs.

He huffs. “Semantics. I can’t remember anyone else, and there won’t be anyone after you. You will be my first and last, Max.”

He lines himself up with my entrance, the tip of him right there.

“I love you, little fox,” he says, caressing the angle of my jaw.

I curl my fingers over his heart and open my mouth to answer, but he swallows my next breath with a kiss. He kisses me again and again, stealing my thoughts and not giving me an inch to spare as though he’s too scared that I won’t say it back. That I can’t.

But there are no more excuses left in me. I don’t want to explain him away, to hate myself for loving a dead man, because I’m desperately in love with him, and I want to shout it from the treetops.

I’m in love with a ghost, and I don’t care.

I bury my hands in his soft hair and give it a gentle tug, eager for the chance to take a breath and tell him I love him, too, but a strange sensation prickles the skin of my arms. When I open my eyes, he’s there, hovering above me.

Bright light. Long dark lashes. Golden-white hair. Chiseled abs. And a loving smile that borders on obsession.

I blink excess water out of my eyes and hold my breath, but the image never quite comes into focus. His shape refuses to fully materialize, and the room spins around me almost as violently as it did under the venom’s influence.

My mouth hangs open, and he mistakes my surprise for hesitation.

“You don’t have to say it back, yet. Just know I’d break the world for you, little fox. Every fucking piece.”

He enters me in one powerful thrust, and I cry out, my head falling to the mattress.

Tell me to stop, Max. Because I will destroy everything that keeps me from you. I will break the world, little fox. Every fucking piece.

I sink my nails into his scalp, the throaty words so similar to the ones he spoke in the Dreaming. It takes me back to that lonely marital bed.

The horror of what comes next is still imprinted in my memory, of drowning in a wedding night that felt more like a death sentence than happiness… Of the black waters that followed.

My dream-husband. It is him.

He curls a hand around my thigh, his fingers digging into my arse as he adjusts the angle before penetrating me deeper.

And deeper.

I’m feverish and mad, seeing two scenes at once, two versions of him above me, one brimming with love while the other…stalks from the shadows. My ghost comes into focus, a golden light emanating from within, while his shadow—his double—swells with darkness and hunger. The two images bleed into one another until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

The two men fuck me as though they could be resurrected in sin.

“You’ve got us both, now, my lucky little fox,” my dream-husband slurs.

I remember drowning in the dream. I’m drowning now, in his arms, in this pleasure that reaps me against logic, every invasion of his cock like a scythe cutting me in two.

“Fuck. You’re the heaven I never knew,” E says huskily, oblivious to my fever dream.

“Look at him,” my dream-husband murmurs. “Poor fool, still pretending he’s gentle. Still pretending he doesn’t ruin everything he loves. Too lost to notice he invited me in himself. All that light, all that hope. Disgusting.”

A long ahh tears out of me, the size of him crashing through my entire body. A blinding orgasm explodes from that space between my legs with such violence, I stop breathing altogether.

And then I see it.

The dark sky behind the stars. That vast, inky nothingness beyond the light.

Spiraling.

And spiraling.

E’s shadow holds me under the surface of that wide, endless dark.

“Tell me, little fox, does he fuck you the way I do? Does he still ask for permission and hold you till morning? Ask him what he dreams about. Ask him what makes his chest ache for no reason. Deep down, he knows he’s not good enough.”

“Who are you?” I ask, my lips unmoving, this ocean of black buried deep in the cracks of my mind.

“I am every promise he failed to keep and every sin he committed. Every bridge he burned. Every heart he broke. I am the grief he couldn’t survive, and the awful choices he justified. The monster he became one compromise at a time.” His voice lowers beyond loathing, beyond hate. “I am every part of him that he buried, and I find him lacking.”

The hand of my dream-husband closes around my throat.

“Bad news,” he murmurs. “I’m the one who gets you in the end, Max.”

His thumb tilts my chin higher. “Because you’re far too curious to ever give up on meeting me. And he’ll get curious, too. About the man haunting your dreams and satisfying your darkest fantasies. He’ll want answers and grow jealous.” A humorless smile curves his mouth. “Angry.”

I want to find my way back to the light, but my dream-husband is a black hole, and his gravity is inescapable.

“And then, you and I will be reunited.” He bites down on my neck, hard enough to taste my blood.“Enjoy this version of him. It doesn’t survive.”

“Max?” E’s voice echoes from impossibly far away. It cuts through the darkness, barely reaching me. “Max, are you alright? Max!”

E moves frantically beside me, but I can’t see him anymore. I can’t see anything. I rise. I fall. I break the surface of the waking nightmare, only to be dragged under again.

A gasp tears out of my throat, and my eyes fly open. The unbearable pressure of eons of time and space and galaxies delivers me.

The delirium snaps.

“Max!” E presses his palm to my heart, making sure it’s still beating. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

Shiver after shiver rocks my body as it crashes down from the end-all orgasm. E is invisible again, and I’m not sure if his shadow was ever really in the room with us, or if I imagined the whole thing.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

“I-I don’t know,” I stammer, feeling so cold, my teeth chatter.

He kisses the top of my head, handling me like a precious, fragile thing. “Max, I’m so sorry. I’m here. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

I hide my face in his chest and grip his shoulders tightly. “Maybe that’s what loving a dead man does to a mortal. We should have known there would be consequences.”

E chokes. “You love me?”

I screw my eyes shut against the sting of incoming tears. “I do. I love you, and it terrifies me. The man in my dreams⁠—”

I grip the roots of my curls and tug, the memories already slipping, already fading, but I remember enough.

My throat constricts.

Can I repeat his sinister prophecy?

Do I have the right to tell E about the man he might have been in life? About the version of himself that tried to drown me?

Our first time together, and it was…apocalyptic. Almost fatal.

He pats my back up and down. “Shh. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, especially not that creepy dream-stalker. We’ll find out who he is and how he does it. And then, I’ll kill him myself.”

If only it could be so simple.

“Did you—” But I know he didn’t finish. “What am I saying? Of course you didn’t, I’m sorry,” I ramble.

He pecks my temple. “Don’t worry about that—never worry about that, alright? We’re alright now.” He brushes my hair away from my face. “Are you alright?”

I bite down on my lip.

No, I’m not alright, but what can I do?

I can’t bear the thought of losing E, of trading him in for the dark lover who plagues my thoughts. If mentioning the hold his past self has on me is the very thing that sets his fate in motion… I shouldn’t breathe another word about it. Never.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Perfectly alright.”

The tents outside have long since gone quiet, the campfires burned down to ash, the oil lanterns extinguished.

We breathe slowly in and out.

In and out.

Until a terribly discreet but intrusive knock cuts through the dark.