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Her thoughts weren’t entirely fair, maybe not as rational as she wanted them to be, but something about Greaves having possession of her mind had sunk her, put cement in her spirit and taken her to the bottom of the lake. Maybe she needed to cry. She worked at it, and squeezed out a couple of tears but she just wasn’t in the mood to give vent to her feelings through her tear ducts.
No, that wasn’t what she needed.
She needed the link broken, but how? Maybe Endelle could do it. Everyone kept mentioning how much power she had.
Then again, Endelle certainly couldn’t change the fact that she was sequestered in this villa, unable to even walk about on the grounds without Antony glued to her side.
And now she had a voyeur-link with a monster.
When she left the bathroom, she’d come to at least one decision. She intended to move into one of the guest rooms. Not the original one she’d used—it was across from Marcus and Havily’s room—but one closer to Antony.
With the towel still wrapped around her, she padded through the bathroom. She was surprised to see Antony sitting up in bed, his arms folded across his bare chest, his long hair hanging around his shoulders. He was looking in the direction of the den, through to the windows that opened onto the front lawn. She knew he could hear her, but he didn’t turn in her direction. He just stared across the room.
She rounded the bed and stood a few feet away facing him. His gaze was still fixed in the same direction. She waited.
“You were in the bathroom awhile.”
“I was thinking. And I thought you were asleep.”
“I was. I woke up to an empty bed and I panicked. Then I realized you were probably in the bathroom. I got up and checked. I could hear you breathe and sigh. Your thoughts were very loud, I just couldn’t read them.”
He sort of smiled, a half smile.
“I’ve had a lot to digest.”
“So have I.” His frown deepened. “I think we should complete the breh-hedden.”
Somehow it was the last thing she’d expected him to say. She even moved back a full step. “Why?” she asked. Okay, so she’d almost shouted the question.
Maybe it was the tone of her voice, which she admitted did sound incredulous, even to her, but his brows shot up and his arms unhinged but they didn’t come apart all the way. He looked wound up, braced for anything, tight.
He heaved a sigh. “Because if we complete the breh-hedden, which involves moving into each other’s minds at certain times, then I’m guessing that no one can form this kind of voyeur-link with you ever again. Certainly not without my knowledge.”
“You want to complete the breh-hedden so you can have charge of my mind?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He pushed a hand through his hair on the left side until it hung away from his face. “Not have charge, never that. But maybe I could protect you better.”
“Lots of maybes.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, the very edge, as in she took up three inches of mattress at the most.
Her head wagged back and forth and her gaze fell to the dark planked floor. The villa was beautiful and the wood gleamed, another lovely prison. “I don’t want to complete the breh-hedden, and I don’t want you to move into my head … ever.” She turned to him. “I’m not even sure that I want you, really want you. I feel trapped, Antony. This … this thing grabbed hold of both of us and chained us. That’s why we’re here. Then Madame Endelle assigned you as my Guardian. Well the guard part of that word feels about right.”
He looked appalled, his eyes wide, his brows raised, his lips parted. His cheeks had a drawn look, liked he’d sucked in the shock of her words and couldn’t let it back out.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “I guess you have been thinking.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I’ve just realized how inaccessible you are.”
She stood up and stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Thoughts of Jason and the way he’d broken up with her shot through her mind. He’d used that word to describe her as well, but this wasn’t fair at all.
“But it’s true, isn’t it? At least be honest with yourself about what it is you’re doing right now, about all the things you just said to me. You just said, I’m not even sure I want you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant this breh thing has charge of us both right now. Maybe you don’t even want me.”
He blinked, a strange slow movement. “Maybe the f**k I don’t.”
She was breathing hard, and panic began to rise. What was she doing? Was she breaking up with him? Had she been cruel? By the look on his face the answer had to be yes.
She felt an urge to apologize, but when she opened her mouth what came out was, “I want to move into one of the guest rooms.”
“Fine. Take any one you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”
She felt the bitterness in each word. Fine. This was for the best. She needed space. She’d been needing space for three long months.
She gathered up some of her clothes and left the room.
***
How f**king strange.
Medichi stared at the closed door, the carved wood panels that comprised a thick private partition between his room and the rest of the villa.
His arms hung loose at his sides now, like they had nowhere of importance to be. Less than an hour ago, one of his arms had held his woman tight, now he had no woman, just this pit in his chest that had taken the place of his lungs.
Parisa wasn’t completely off base. She had posed at least one rational question. How could either of them know what was real or what was just some bullshit preternatural creation of the breh-hedden?
There was just one problem.
He pulled her pillow up to his nose and smelled. Tangerine. The whole time she’d been talking and arguing and looking edible with just a black towel around her luscious body, the whole time she’d been yelling, he’d been hard as a rock and ready for her. Goddamn breh-hedden.
On the other hand, he took a deep breath and admitted the other truth, the one that lurked in the back of his head: He was just a little bit relieved that she wasn’t here, wasn’t beside him, wasn’t reminding him of his new duty as a Guardian of Ascension, as her breh.
Fuck. Him. Because he almost smiled.
Relief flowed through him like a dam had just given way.
He was free.
Shit. He was free and he loved it, bastard that he was. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He cared about Parisa. He really did. Or maybe it was just that he felt he should care about her.
