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Cruel logic rears its ugly head within me, and my picture of our future grows grainy and hard to imagine. Logic says that eventually these people won’t be able to resist the pull of the darkness. I’ve lived my life by logic and not emotion, so I tend to trust it over all else. Asha has to see what I’m seeing too, right?
“But the power will always live within. The possibility one might succumb?—”
Asha grabs my right hand and pulls it into her lap, holding it between hers. It’s not out of frustration that she silences me, but out of sympathy. In recognition of my mounting anxiety over her people and our future, she quells that panic with love. And in so doing demonstrates her point. She caresses the back of my hand as if to say, This is how we defeat the darkness.
Clenched muscles relax. I settle into the leather seat and focus on Asha’s touch. There’s nothing logical about Asha and I. About a criminal and a half-breed finding love, with a pack of Enforcers. Yet, it happened.
“Maybe the dark will take them, maybe it won’t, but I think with us by their side, they have more than a little chance of being okay.” There’s hesitation in her voice, but also hope.
I consider her words, and the impact of her touch. “Maybe love can defeat that darkness.”
If anything can, it’s love, matched with Asha’s determination to help them. It’s not logical, but it feels right.
“Tell me something, Orson,” she says.
“Anything you like.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
I lift my eyebrows staring back at her. But I quickly realize the triviality of her question belies a deeper connection. A lifetime of learning each other sprawls out before us.
And it begins right now.
“Brown.”
“Brown?” she repeats incredulously.
I smile. “It wasn’t always.”
“Sorry, but I don’t know many people who like the color brown.” She’s trying not to laugh. “When did it change?”
“Fairly recently.” I decide the hell with it. “When our eyes first met.”
Blush colors her porcelain cheeks red. “Oh, you’re smooth, Orson.”
I laugh, but I mean it. Brown is officially my favorite color and all because of her stunning eyes. “What about yours?”
“Silver.”
“And has that always been the case?”
She shakes her head. “Only since I discovered it was the color of my magic. Because it comes from goodness, from love. It reminds me of those I love. Like you.” We stare into each other’s eyes, possibly a second longer than would be safe while driving, but I want to linger in her gaze as long as I can. When she breaks, she throws a glance into the backseat and says, “And those two snorers back there.”
We continue this deceptively lighthearted conversation, favorite season, pastime, hobbies, movies, books, gradually entwining our souls together with every new detail we learn about one another. All the while, she holds my hand in her lap and strokes my forearm with delicate fingertips, banishing tension from my body.
Though quieted by this ecstasy, I still hear a voice of doubt.
Can these people be saved?
Will Asha’s heart be broken all over again?
I hope we can save them. But even if we can’t, I’m hoping Asha will find a way to be okay with it. Because this woman? She’s already had a lifetime of hurt.
EIGHTEEN
Asha
A winding dirt path snakes away from the road. In the distance, almost camouflaged among the trees, rise the dark spires of another mansion. I think of predators in the animal kingdom blending in with their environment to keep from tipping off their prey. A lion’s tan coat matching the grass of the plain. An arctic fox disappearing into the white blur of the tundra.
