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Loren appeared wounded by the dismissal, but she turned and walked away.
Darien didn’t say anything, no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how badly his palms itched with the need to strike something. He stood there and watched as his woman followed another man, past the many rooms filled with Tricking patients and mortals who were squaring off with death at the end of their short lives.
His blood was scalding. His heart pounded with rage. Black pushed at the whites of his eyes, but he fought it—he fought it hard.
He needed to get away from here—
Loren was halfway down the hallway when she froze and turned back around. For a minute, she stood there, not looking at him, hands in fists that were swallowed up by the sleeves of his hoodie, the clothing item far too big for her tiny body.
And then she hurried back to him, eyes on her feet.
Darien waited, pushing the mess of emotions and thoughts into the farthest corners of his heart and mind, forcing himself to keep it together for her, to not make a scene or make her feel bad—or, worse, give her a reason to want to be around Klay instead of him.
“Hey,” she began, tucking her hair behind an ear. “Umm.” It took her a moment to make eye contact with him, and when she finally did, there was a hint of fear in her eyes. Darien worried that it was there because of him. Was she afraid of him? It was enough to make the Surge retreat, if only briefly, leaving him able to think clearer.
And then Darien remembered their suite. He’d destroyed their bedroom, and she had been at Hell’s Gate just now… And now this had happened, his fucking violent tendencies showing through the threats he’d just uttered.
Shit.
When Loren spoke, her voice was quiet. “I don’t think this project is going to take us very long. I put together some bouquets at the apothecary last weekend. I was thinking we could bring one and go to City Cemetery together?”
Darien glanced over her head to see Klay still waiting at the end of the hallway. Arms crossed, watching. Like a fucking idiot preying on a woman that wasn’t his.
Darien looked back at Loren. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. Eight o’clock? We’ll go together.”
To his mother’s grave. A place he hadn’t been since… Well, ever. He’d never gone. Not once.
There was a lump in his throat. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sounds good, sweetheart.”
She stepped closer, tipping her head back. He knew what she wanted, but for a reason he couldn’t totally explain to himself, he kissed her on the forehead instead of the mouth.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he offered. Even he could hear how cold his voice sounded. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop it in time.
“Yeah, okay.” Her voice was breathy and weak and… Shit. Were those tears? For fuck’s sake, he’d made her cry. “See you.”
Head bowed, she turned and walked away before he could say anything else. But even if she’d stayed, he wasn’t sure he would’ve spoken up. He was at a loss as to what to do, what to think, how to feel. When he’d found Loren in that alley on the Avenue of the Scarlet Star, he’d discovered a purpose, a home that was a person instead of a place. She was his heart, his place of refuge and security, the only woman he’d ever wanted, the only woman he’d ever been in love with.
She was his forever and always, and not long ago he’d believed he was hers. But while she was absolutely perfect in every way, he…he wasn’t. And seeing her with someone else, even if it was for something as innocent as a school project, set fire to a new emotion he’d hoped not to feel again for a really long time.
It was fear, realer than his heart beating in his chest. Fear that she was slipping through the cracks of his broken life, and fear that he loved her too much to stop her from going.
—
Loren could scarcely breathe, her inability to draw air the result of a confusing mixture of anger and sorrow, the emotions so debilitating she could barely function. Barely think.
As soon as she was out the front doors of the hospital and around the corner of the building, she lost it.
She shoved Klay in the chest so hard, he actually stumbled.
“You’re an asshole, Klay,” she hissed. She advanced on him, hands curling into fists at her sides, the sleeves of Darien’s hoodie swallowing her fingers up. “You are never going to do that again, do you understand me?” She shoved him again, but this time he was prepared, and he didn’t budge, his chest like solid rock.
The ass was smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
