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Darien shoved his chair back and stood. “Excuse me for a minute.”
Loren dropped her fork to her placemat. “Darien—”
Eyes black, vision filled with bleeding colors that were like the glow of certain objects under a black light, Darien could do nothing but wave her away as he went out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.
In the cool night air, he focused on breathing, on stopping his head from spinning.
He had been able to keep Loren safe until now, but what would come next? He was about to get in deep with not just Gaven, but also Randal’s men, and if she got hurt, if anything bad happened to her, if he made one wrong move with the other Darkslaying houses—
He gripped the railing. It groaned under his strength, such a feeble thing, it almost snapped.
If the day came when he drowned, he would drown alone—he’d make damn sure of that. He would never let anything happen to her. He just had to keep control of the situation.
Keep control—and keep his head above the water.
—
“If there’s one question you can answer for me tonight, let it be this one,” Loren began as she handed Erasmus another soapy dish. He turned the tap on hot and rinsed it off. Behind them, Cyra was packing up the leftovers and stacking the containers in the crowded fridge. Although she made no indication that she was listening, Loren suspected she was hanging off every word. “How can I help him?”
Darien was still out on the balcony. She’d stepped outside to ask him if he wanted to come in and finish the rest of his dinner, but he’d told her he was done, being careful not to turn around and let her see the black in his eyes. He’d only eaten half of what was on his plate.
“Surges, right?” Erasmus asked, setting the dish on the rack to dry.
Loren grabbed a pot and began scrubbing the crust of gravy off the bottom. “Almost every night. I used to be able to help him with my powers, but…they’re gone. Ever since Kalendae, I haven’t been able to summon them. Can you tell me how?”
“Ah, Loren, I uh…” He rubbed his shaven chin. “I don’t really know if that’s such a good idea.”
She dragged the sponge over the bottom of the pot, stainless steel shrieking. “You don’t know what he’s done for me. How much he’s sacrificed for me. I don’t care if my body isn’t built to handle it, I would…” Die for him. She would die for him, and she wouldn’t think twice about it.
“Your type of magic is very, ah…how d-do I put this?”
“Loren?”
Loren turned to see Darien walking into the kitchen. His eyes weren’t black anymore, but his face was lined with exhaustion, his muscles tense under his shirt. The Surge wasn’t gone, and likely wouldn’t go away until he did something about it.
Blood—the price he always had to pay.
Darien choked out, “I’m so sorry—”
Loren dropped the sponge into the water. “Don’t be. We were done anyway.”
He faced Erasmus. “I’m sorry to cut this so short.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Erasmus said, holding up a sudsy hand. “I understand what you’re going through. B-believe me.”
“Thanks for dinner,” Loren said stiffly, shoving the soapy pot into Erasmus’s hand. “And for, you know, all the non-answers. We had a great time.” She dried her hands on the dish towel hanging from the cupboard below the sink and made her way to Darien’s side.
Erasmus stuttered, “W-wait, Loren. Wait. Please.”
Loren paused beside Darien and looked over her shoulder.
“Your answers,” Erasmus began, looking pained. “I can give them to you in time. I s-swear. In time.”
Loren rolled her eyes, feeling guilty as soon as she did it. “Time, sure. Because you’ve been great at giving me that so far.” She grasped Darien’s wrist and walked away.
Erasmus’s tone was desperate as he called, “Why don’t we m-meet again next week?”
Loren couldn’t stop her next words before they floated off her tongue. “Maybe in another twenty years.” She mumbled over her shoulder, “Thanks for dinner, Cyra. It was wonderful.”
