Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Most likely.” He agrees so damned easily that it irks me. I know Bram cares deeply about his people; if he didn’t, he would just leave them to the inevitable civil war that would occur upon his passing. How can he care so much and yet be so defeatist?
I didn’t realize I spoke out loud until he answers me. He pulls me closer and tucks his face against my throat. “It’s easy. When life kicks you in the teeth enough times, you learn to expect it. If I were any smarter, I would’ve given up fighting by now. Maybe I would have some peace then.”
Every time he says shit like this, my heart feels like it’s twisting in my chest. I dig my fingers into his hair and pull until he lifts his face and meets my gaze. “Stop that. If you were going to give up, you would’ve done it by now. You obviously have no intention of doing so, so stop with the dramatics.”
“You call me dramatic?” His lips curve, but his eyes stay oh so serious. “You’re the one who keeps fleeing into the night, chasing . . . I honestly don’t even know what you’re chasing at this point. What will it matter if you get answers now or in seven years? Will it change anything?”
I hate him a little bit for the question. Because he’s right yet also so far off the mark that I want to set something on fire. “You can’t honestly expect me to sit around and play with you for seven years when I know there are answers within reach.”
“I don’t.” He sits up, easily breaking my hold on him. Truth be told, I don’t try very hard to maintain it. Bram climbs off the bed and shakes out his wings with a snap. His aura is a deep ocean blue of contentment. I don’t know what it says about me that I feel a shiver of satisfaction knowing I am partially responsible. It won’t last—contentment never does. But it’s there right now, and that feels like it means something.
I just don’t know what.
Bram keeps speaking, oblivious to my strange thoughts. “Which is why I made a bargain with you the first night. You won’t be able to help yourself; the pull of the answers is too strong for you to ignore.” He gives me a long look. “But you weren’t thinking about answers last night.”
No, I really wasn’t. All I was thinking about was where he would touch me next, kiss me next. Even now, with him standing a safe distance away, I’m achingly aware of the fact that I’m naked in his bed. It would be so easy to . . .
Damn it, I’m getting distracted again. It’s one thing when I can convince myself I have no choice, but I can’t quite make the leap into doing this now in the light of day. With that in mind, I slip out of the bed, ensuring I keep a careful distance between us as I head for the door. One of the downfalls of never being in a proper relationship is that I don’t know how to navigate fighting in any way that resembles healthy. I’m so conflicted right now, I don’t know which way is up, so it’s better to get out of here before I say something I regret. “I’m going to take a walk.” Maybe at the end of it, I’ll have clarity.
“I never pegged you for a coward.”
That stops me in my tracks. “I’m not a coward.” You can’t be in my line of work. Fear is death. Fear will make you freeze when you should run, run when you should fight. Fear will make you start screaming and lead the monsters right to your door. I’ve spent my entire life eradicating fear from the bottom of my bones and to my very soul. “Conducting a tactful retreat is intelligent.”
“I see. We’re still at war.” He sounds so tired and defeated that I almost turn around. Almost. That way lies ruin. I have faltered already in so many ways. A week ago, the idea that I’d be worried about caring too much about my gargoyle would have made me laugh. Now, that threat is all too real.
I don’t want to hurt him. But I can’t afford to be distracted by him either.
I force my spine straight and shoulders back as I walk through the door without looking at him. He doesn’t follow. I tell myself that’s what I want as my footsteps echo through the empty hallways. How does he stand it? My own family home lies equally echoing and empty—I know that none of my late family members have made the transition to spirits—and I still take great pains not to spend more time there than necessary. The loneliness sinks in too quickly and takes root until I have to leave and rip it out of my soul with my bare hands.