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Leon still holds the blue glow to him, his anger still simmering very close to the surface. He turns to face me, and I can see the blue tattoos extend through his neck, his collar on full display. My pulsethunders and I remind myself again that this man of infinite violence probably won’t hurt me.
Probably.
He probably doesn’t even know he’s hurting my arm right now.
“Leon…” I start, trying to find a way to mend this fracture between us. Why has everything been so hard? Why does a bond that’s supposed to be my destiny feel like this? Either I’m being drugged, I’m a sex-crazed maniac, or I feel like there’s a hot poker being stabbed into my brain.
I’m tired.
So fucking tired.
Is this what fighting your destiny feels like? I feel small. The broken fragments of myself I’ve barely pieced together over the years are crumbling.
I’m the problem.
I’ve always been a problem. Not outgoing enough, not pretty enough, or social enough. I’ve kept secrets, and all it’s ever done is hurt those I love. I’ve fought my whole life to keep my head above water, but I’m drowning.
There’s finally someone who loves me. Who wants me. And I’m turning my nose up at him like I have a higher moral ground.
I’m worthless. I’m a murderer.
Leon doesn’t answer me, but his hand comes around to grab my middle, and my feet leave the ground. The familiar stretching sensation hits and we apparate back in front of Leon’s castle.
When our feet are firmly planted on the ground, he lets me go and stalks off into the darkness outsidewithout a word. The bond pulls at me uncomfortably as I watch him fade into the darkness.
Despite the discomfort from the bond, I’m relieved to be alone. It’s like a cramp – just sharp enough to make it impossible to get comfortable. Still, the pain doesn’t get worse, and considering the amount of brain fog I’ve had today, I’m assuming that the lack of pain is due to Leon not straying far rather than the bond settling down.
I wait outside the door for a few breaths. Would it be rude to just let myself in? What’s the worst that will happen? Leon might not invite me back.
Fat chance of that.
I snort out loud at the thought.
At least I can still find humour in the craziest moments of my life. That helps.
Pulling open the castle doors, I head to the room where I left my clothes earlier this afternoon. The dress I’m wearing is stunning. It makes me feel like a princess.
I can’t wait not to be wearing it anymore.
Princess activities should be limited to short, hour-long durations. Anything greater than that borders on torture. While all bras suck, corsets bite into ALL the ribs and are never happening again. I’m categorizing them with long underwear – the no-thank-you list.
I ignore the bruises that are starting to form on my neck and arm as I grab my own clothes. My black leggings call to me, even though they’re salt-stained from my jumping into the ocean the other night. I can’t even piece together how many nights ago that was now. Two? One? Everything is starting to meld together, and my sleep schedule is fully confused.
Is there a time difference when you jump between realms? Perhaps my exhaustion and time confusion are the result of inter-realm jet lag.
Happily back into the comfort of my clothes, I head downstairs. The cramping feeling in my stomach eased a moment ago, and I know that Leon is back from his walk or general moody staring off into the darkness. I don’t know him well enough to be sure which he prefers.
He’s sitting at the head of the large wooden table in the centre of the grand hall. The fire is lit, casting a warm glow about the room. The stained-glass windows above us let in the slightest hint of starlight. Once again, I’m struck by the mastery that went into designing a place with such care.
Leon’s eyes catch mine as I make my way down the stairs, not leaving me as he tracks me across the room. They aren’t shining blue anymore. I’m taking that as a good sign that he’s calmed down.
Neither of us speaks as I walk over to the table. The table is massive, and rather than awkwardly sit at opposing ends and needing to yell, I sit adjacent to him, turning my chair so that we’re facing each other.
Is he still mad? Or was he using that time to think about our next plan of attack? Either way, I’m not keen to mention how angry he was with me, so I keep my mouth shut. This doesn’t feel like being called to the principal’s office. I’m a grown woman. AND I came here of my own accord.
That anxious pit in my stomach has always been there.
I try to school my feelings into meek compliance. It’s what he wants. I can give him that, even if the man is remarkable at rubbing me the wrong way. Not that I’llmention his rubbing me in any way, lest he get any more ideas.
