The heaving of his chest slowed. “I did not initiate that sharing.”
“No?” She clasped a hand over her mouth.“I did that?”
His gaze narrowed, and he turned away. “I did not mean to let my guard down. I am sorry.”
Like the winking out of a star, a little piece of her shriveled. He was sorry? Sorry he’d opened up to her?
“This is going to complicate . . .” He exhaled. She moved toward him, but he spun away. “Please, give me a moment.”
She watched him pace, saddened, detached, lonely almost. “I would not tell anyone—”
“The Soulless assimilate their prey’s intellect.”
“What?” She tried to make sense of that. Assimilate? Consume? Absorb?
“One touch on a Moonless night, Alexia.” The harshness of his tone startled her. “That is all it would take, and every secret stored in your head could fall into their grasp.”
Including whatever she knew of him.
She bristled. “I appreciate your worry, but I have survived thus far.”
He huffed. “Have you now? And why do you think that is?”
A glimpse of him saving her in the woods returned. “Apparently you will always be there to change me back.”
“Which I will be required to do every month, every single month for the rest of your existence if they even suspect we are—” Arik’s lips froze. His pupils dilated, focused right through her. “Great God in heaven!” He drove both hands through his hair and paced right past her, head shaking.
“Arik?”
He pressed a fist to his mouth, his brows low. She reached for him and he dodged away from her hand.
Stung, she stood back, a strange coldness settling over her. Why would he not allow her to ease his agitation?
He stopped with his back to her. “I should have stayed away from you.”
“No—”
“The dream is real, Alexia.”
She lost a moment. The dream? The nightmare that came every year on her birthday and occasionally between? Black-caped creatures circling her, lying in the street, the blue-eyed man reflected in her dead stare?
He took a deep breath and looked at her, his oceanic eyes a whirlpool of despair. “Your death will destroy so much more than me. Do you understand that?”
She shook her head. What had he just said?
“It will kill me, Alexia.”
Frustrated he was reading her, she scowled. “Do you believe if you had stayed away from me we might both miraculously survive?”
He exhaled heavily, and began pacing again, both hands tearing through his hair.
“Arik, please—”
He halted. “Why do you wish to leave with me, Alexia?”
Because I do not want to be without you, no matter the cost. He turned back, capturing her eyes with the net of his earnest night sky. She steeled herself against the invasion.
“No matter the cost?” he asked.
She threw her hands up in frustration.
“And yes, me invading your thoughts would be a regular part of your life, that much I can assure you.”
“Until I learn to block you out.”
He chuckled and spat, “You cannot block this talent.”
She glared. He was already insufferable.
His tone softened, shoulders dropping slightly. “Do you want to know about terrors that would keep you up at night?”
“Yes.”
“You want to feel what it is like to lose everything you love?”
Her chest tightened. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
His voice deepened, eyes wide and vulnerable. “You are willing to die for love?”
She hesitated. He waited expectantly, ready for an answer, eyes yearning for the reassurance she couldn’t give. She set her jaw and met his stare.
His brows lowered, a slight tremor shaking his words. “Good night, Alexia.”
“Good night, or goodbye?”
Silence.
He straightened up, the truth plain in the set of his mouth, his eyes hardened to sapphires.
Her heart stopped. Bitterness sprang up, resentment for all he’d put her through—and would he now threaten to make her endure alone? He had no proof that their being together would lead to her dream’s fulfillment. “You cannot know the future.”
A sardonic chuckle rattled out of him. “And why not? You do.”
She staggered backward.
He groaned and covered his face. When his hands fell away, no emotion remained. “Our time together will be one of my most treasured memories. You will forgive me when you no longer remember it.”
She blinked at him. “I could never forget.”
A sad smile touched his cheek. “Someone will do the forgetting for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not suffer. That I promise.”
“You can erase memories?”
Tired lines weighed his eyes. “They can be altered, but that is not my gift.”
She flushed, her ears ringing. Was that why he seemed to know her and she had no recollection of him? He had sent someone who forced her to forget before?
She covered her mouth. “How could you?”
His gaze snapped to hers.
She backed into the wall, head shaking. “No.” Tears stung through. How much had he taken? Hours? Days? Weeks?
“Stop.” His jaw clenched.
And there he went, pillaging her thoughts. “Or what? You will lie to me more?”
He wheeled around, his fists balled.
“Tell me!” she shrieked. “What have you taken?”
He cornered her. “To protect the Passionate, sacrifices must be made.”
“And my memories are but one of those insignificant sacrifices?”
His eyes flashed up, pure onyx, angry, dark stone. “Any number of sacrifices have been made on your behalf.”
Her breath caught. He may as well have punched her. That terrible moment in the woods blazed through her brain, the terror, the tears, his resolve and willingness to give all. Moisture prickled in her eyes. “I did not ask you to sacrifice for me.”
His gaze lowered. “You did not have to.”
A sob caught in her throat.
His eyes pinched in anger, muscles bulging in his jaw. “But we will not perpetuate my mistake.”
She gasped but couldn’t fill her lungs. He thought caring for her was a mistake?
He had known her before, she saw it clearly now. He had cared for her before. Perhaps she’d even loved him in return, but she couldn’t feel that way anymore.
She wouldn’t! Not for a man who could callously toss her aside.
Gagging on her own emotions, she swallowed. “It is all a lie—this, who we are, what we have. It is a lie!”
He gripped her shoulders and shook her, hissing through his teeth, “Nothing has ever been more real.”
She glared, the speckled cobalt of his gaze blurring through angry tears. “It may once have been, but you destroyed it long ago!” Her hand flexed.
He caught her cheek. “Alexia, for—”
Smack!
His head jerked to the side. Her fingers stung. She glanced at them, trembling, the skin bright red from impact. A pink outline emblazoned itself across Arik’s jaw.
She jolted from before him and ran for her bedroom door. She yanked it open. “After you have stolen my memories, I hope your suffering is intolerable, for I will never let you into my heart again!” She slammed the door shut.
53
Complications
Kiren trudged blindly into the night. He had done it—what was right, what he should have done months ago. So why could he not breathe? Every step sent a fresh stab of pain to his heart—every step away from her.
“You will not take a companion after all?”
He froze. A silhouette towered against the tree line, ten feet away. The mild stench of rotted flesh churned his stomach.
John.
Kiren bit d
own. “You are mistaken in your assumptions.”
The behemoth’s head shook and he chuckled. “Enjoy your time away. I know I shall.” He strode past.
Kiren’s fingers bit into his palms. So they were playing a game: Lure him away with a prospect of ending the war, or protect Alexia. He pulled a hand through his hair. If anything happened to her . . .
He glanced back at the retreating giant. Who would he choose—Alexia and his own beating heart, or the rest of the Passionate?
Checkmate.
He cursed.
54
Empty Things
Alexia rolled over and covered her tear-stained face as sunlight washed through the room. Her chest ached from the wracking sobs and pillow-silenced screams. Her palms had scabbed over from the slicing of her nails. Her limbs trembled from a sleepless night and the certainty she would never slumber peacefully again.
How could she ever have loved him?
More importantly, how could she quit loving him?
Perhaps she’d experienced the dream all these years as a warning. Perhaps he had as well. But betrayed or not, the truth of his loss left her hollow—gutted like an animal that awaited stuffing for some nobleman’s mantle. She may as well be dead already.
Somewhere in the night she had found rational thought: Her life was a simple thing to offer, but his? He healed people. He took away pain. He lived to bless others. Asking him to make the ultimate sacrifice, it was the most selfish thing she could do. She hated herself for wishing it upon him. But some small part of her wanted him to suffer, wanted him to bleed for opening her eyes and stealing true happiness away.
Eventually she clambered out of bed. It seemed easier to be up and doing something than sitting and thinking. She organized her sundries. She washed. She kicked about piles of things she’d disheveled in her evening frenzy. She dressed. She did her hair. She pulled on some slippers. She played with her mother’s impossible gift.
At last, she stood before the door, daring herself to face the backdrop of last night.
Turmoil rolled over her. She dropped to the floor and curled up, unable to see beyond the sodden folds of her skirt.
She had to go out eventually. Sarah would worry.
She lay despondently next to the crevice between floorboards and door, listening to servants scuttle by. The rhythm of their feet echoed like the trampling of her hopes—like they’d been tossed in a winepress and stomped ‘til nothing but empty, mutilated skins remained. The dregs of happiness had been consumed. She would never have more.
Sarah laughed from somewhere downstairs.
Alexia pushed herself up.
Had Arik changed his mind? Could he be sitting with her aunt even now?
The very slight chance motivated her through the door. The hall looked alarmingly different in the daylight, enough to warrant venturing beyond. She treaded anxiously down the stairs and toward the dining room.
Sarah talked, talked happily. The prospect of Arik’s presence heightened her pace. She hurried into the room and stopped dead.
John Radcliffe.
55
Emptier
Her heart dropped to her feet. John caressed Sarah’s fingers, dark eyes dancing upon her aunt’s face. Alexia swallowed back bile. It might have been a sentimental moment indeed, if not for the hunger ravishing his deceptive exterior. The docile lamb leaning against a lion who intended to rip out her throat.
“Sarah?”
She glanced up. Her flush deepened. “Look who has come to visit!”
Alexia gave him a private glare to which he returned a smug grin. She had to get her aunt away from him. “Arik is gone.”
“What?” Sarah tore herself free from John. “He has left the grounds? Are you certain? For good?”
Alexia nodded.
Sarah stormed up the stairs, and Alexia gave John a mocking curtsey before following.
“He could not even be bothered to say a farewell or thank you for your hospitality?” Her aunt thrust the door open and paused, eyes darting around the abandoned chamber. She whirled on her niece. “What happened?”
Alexia drifted in and took a seat on the bed, numb.
“I heard raised voices.” Sarah sat next to her. “Did he take advantage of you?”
Alexia’s cheeks burned. “Sarah!”
She leaned in, searching her niece’s face. “There is no shame between us.”
Alexia scowled. “No.”
Her near-sister tapped an impatient rhythm with her toe. “When I found you yesterday he could not keep his hands off.”
Alexia closed her eyes, barricading her emotions deep within her chest. “That was yesterday.”
“Oh, Lex.” Her aunt placed an arm around her. They sat in silence, Alexia trying desperately not to think, afraid the emotional geyser would erupt and drown her in its floods.
Her aunt placed a kiss on her cheek and excused herself. “John is waiting for me.”
Alexia rose. And gasped. A parchment peeked from beneath the edge of a vase. She snatched up the paper, hands shaking as she unfolded it.
Dearest Alexia,
This should be the happiest day of my life, but it cannot be. I have written this letter a thousand times, imagining how it would be to hold you as I whisper the truth in your ear, but the perils of our happiness are too great to number. Stay out of harm’s way. Lie if you have to, run when necessary. Always keep Sarah in your sights. Be safe and know that by merely existing, you have made me a better man.
She tore the note to pieces and covered her face, tears erupting.
***
Alexia’s weeping eventually dried into a silent numbness. It was with that numbness she rose in the morning, and with that numbness she lay down at night, unable to dream.
56
The Lion
John stepped from behind a tree in the chilly garden.
Alexia gasped, eyes flashing about for anyone else. A brick wall blocked them from the house, powdered in snow. Bushes hedged either side and leafless branches arced above, locking them in a secluded, wintery tunnel of shadow.
She glared, calculating the distance to the house, gauging if she could outrun him. The only thing worse than her emptiness would be perpetuating it forever.
“I am not here to harm you.”
She backed away. “No? Just to damn my soul to your eternal hunger?”
He followed her, brows lowering. She stumbled faster.
“Stop!” He grabbed her shoulder, fingers biting through her coat. His eyes slammed shut, head bent, air hissing between his teeth.
She squeaked. “Let me go!”
“Stop running.” Heat seeped through her coat from his hand, his crimson-cored eyes burning into her. “It makes the hunger worse.”
She stood perfectly still.
He let her go and straightened up, draping her in his shadow. “I knew you could be reasonable.”
She scowled.
He grinned his winning smile, the one that reminded her why Sarah liked him, why she had liked him, why she could be so happy for her aunt if she hadn’t learned the truth.
“I will not hurt you, Alexia.”
She glared, rubbing her shoulder. “No?”
His head tilted as he considered her movement. “I am not evil, nor am I a mindless animal—as he would have you believe.”
Arik’s warning came resounding back: how the Soulless would work to win her over. She crossed her arms. “A man is defined by his actions.”
He chuckled. “How many moonless nights have I known your dear Sarah? And is she whole?”
The blood drained from her face. It was true. But it didn’t matter. The devil would feed you a thousand truths in order to make you believe one lie.
“Before you condemn all the unfortunate sufferers of this curse, allow me the chance to enlighten you.”
“Because I can believe anything you say.”
He laughed.
Her fists tightened. How dare he be likeable? How dar
e he be easy going or kind? How dare he be here when she had no other source of information?
“Shall we walk?” He gestured and took a step. She hesitated, but couldn’t fight her curiosity. How long had she been aching to know more about the Soulless? She would be careful—not giving any information about herself or Arik and learning what she could.
John smirked as she fell into step beside him. She grimaced and kept her eyes straight ahead.
He cleared his throat. “In the year twelve-hundred, according to the king’s new calendar, twenty-three of the purest Passionate inhabited this world. But not knowing whom to trust, thirteen gave their souls to a madman. Thirteen were lost.”
“Lost?” she echoed.
“Drained. We don’t know precisely what occurred, but I assume you understand the result?”
She caught a glimpse of crimson in his eyes and gave him more distance.
“Since that time they have wandered hungrily, seeking what was taken without knowing where to find it, dragging others into their personal hell as they strive in vain for control.” He exhaled. “I was one of these.”
“The thirteen?”
He huffed. “Their choice of victim.” His brows furrowed. “I resided in a small community with my, my family . . .”
It struck her as odd that this giant should have a family—or any kind of sentimental attachment for that matter.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “But you do not want to hear about that.” He coughed, and continued quickly. “There are degrees of Soulless, degrees to which a being has been drained. I escaped, mercifully, with most of myself intact—but I still would not advise crossing paths with me on a moonless night.”
She shivered.
He glanced down at her. “As a physician, I have been seeking a remedy. You see, we are naturally drawn to negative emotions—depression, anger, fear. However, what happens when we are exposed to the opposite extremes?”
She shook her head.
“I have been exploring this possibility, and your sister is assisting me.”
“Aunt,” she corrected.
“Sister,” he affirmed even more solidly. “She is one of the Passionate.”
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