Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, it was the only thing that killed the poison—at least, that’s what Timothy had told me right before I’d stepped into Faydor for the first time, when he’d put one hand on my shoulder and warned me that I was never going to be the same.
I’d never been told a greater truth.
The wound bubbled as I carefully dabbed the gauze to her skin.
Sickness billowed in my gut, nausea coiling at being the one to make her suffer more than she already was.
The pain was excruciating enough to jolt her from the stupor.
From the exhaustion that had sucked her under.
Pale, disoriented eyes flew open. Her gaze was riddled with torment and an apology.
“They needed me.” She barely managed to gasp it.
I set my palm on the side of her face, my thumb tracing the hollow beneath her eye before my lips were pressing to her forehead, to her temple. And I was murmuring it again, my mouth to her skin, “I know, baby. I know.”
Because she had no reason to apologize. She would do whatever it took to fulfill her duty. Just like I would do anything to fulfill mine to her.
Chapter Thirty
Aria
Night had fallen an hour ago. I’d slept for most of the afternoon, finding sanctuary in Tearsith, resting in the thick grasses, held in the cool breeze that whispered over my skin, my mind lulled by the babbling brook that sang to the meadow.
Pax sat on the very end of the bed now, keeping several feet between us, watching me carefully where I was propped on a pillow against the headboard. I knew he’d done it the entire time that I’d slept. Even within the boundaries of Tearsith, I’d sworn I could feel his eyes on me as he kept guard.
“Are you sure you can’t eat any more?” His voice was a rumble as he gestured to the fast-food container that sat on the nightstand.
“No, if I ate another bite I would burst.”
He’d called in tacos for delivery, and they were the best thing I’d eaten in days, even though I’d only managed to get down two of the three.
“You need to keep up your strength.”
“I am, I promise.” Except I had little of it then.
Strength.
My limbs felt as if they were steel poles, immoveable and heavy, and the fatigue made me sluggish and slow, even though I felt a million times better than I had when I’d fallen asleep shortly after Pax had tended to my wound, then covered me in a fresh T-shirt.
His care had been stark.
His tenderness at odds with the ferocity that vibrated beneath his skin.
And his understanding . . . It was there, though I knew it was underscored with his own fear of the choices I had made, as if he wished he could protect me from who I was but knew it would be absolutely wrong to try to stop me.
It made it really difficult when I didn’t understand any of this, either. The burn on my chest plagued me.
How I could have sustained it.
What it meant.
Pax pushed from the bed and came over to gather the container and my napkin. Gray, tumultuous eyes flicked toward me every few seconds, like he was worried I might disappear.
“You don’t have to take care of me like this,” I told him.
I shivered when his fingertips were suddenly on my face and running down my jaw. “Yes, I do.”
Our connection shimmered. Brighter than ever, though it glowed with a current of dark.
Of a need that whispered of our desolation.
We were up against the impossible.
Hunted.
Forbidden.
My spirit stirred against it.
In a revolt that shouted that was what was really impossible.
Not loving this man.
How could I not? Not when he’d been everything to me for my entire life.
“Thank you.”
His head barely shook, his voice shards as he tossed everything into a plastic sack. “I would do anything for you, Aria. And I need you to know that you don’t need to lie to me the way you did. I’ll support you no matter what. I understand your need to protect those around you, so please do it with me at your side.”
My nod was shaky. “Okay.”
He turned, his hewn, sinewy body moving through the small space. He tossed the used paper bag inside the small trash bin; then he edged over to the window and checked outside again.
I couldn’t look away as he moved through the confined walls within the room.
He wore a tight black tee that stretched across his shoulders and back, the muscles defined and rippling. The tattoos seemed to come alive over his scarred flesh, visions of darkness that crawled and slithered with each movement he made.
My throat went dry.
He seemed to waver before he finally turned back to me. Hesitation brimmed in the savage lines of his face. Uncertainty of where we were supposed to go from there.