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He sat on her bed, trying to recover and keep himself from imagining how it would feel to share this space with her covered in a pink ruffle comforter. For days he’d been agonizing about what he should do. He’d been trying to reconcile what he knew about the Tellus family with what he’d seen with his own eyes. Especially now that he had proof that the book existed. The book that could end this hellish curse.
He covered his face with his hands. Sorrel vexed him. He’d watched her all day, waiting for her to prove to him that his family was right—that she was a conniving coward who used her powers to deceive. Instead all he saw was a woman who gave her life to helping others, all quietly, never for show. Worse, he saw a woman who he’d obviously hurt. He pulled out the phone that had almost given him away. He should really remember to silence it if he was going to follow people. And though he had heard the message that she’d left in person, he wanted to hear her voice.
Eric played her message, and Tara followed her owner’s voice into the bedroom. Eric picked up the cat and snuggled her against him. Tara purred violently. “You wouldn’t like me so much if you knew why I was here. What I had done to your owner.” What he could do.
Eric stared at his phone. To hear that Sorrel missed him and wanted to get together added to the turmoil he’d been feeling all week. Sorrel was in greater danger than she knew. Not only from him but from his family. How could she not know? Hadn’t she been taught to hunt him and guard her secret as he had been taught to despise her and destroy her at any cost? She lived her life as if she weren’t cursed. Was her naivete an act meant to lure him in? Even thinking it almost made him laugh. She was the most generous, genuine person he’d ever met. Or was she?
He groaned so loud it startled Tara. He didn’t know what to believe. Maybe because his heart wanted to believe one thing and his head another. He’d never felt for a woman like he had for Sorrel. Yet destroying her book would give him the freedom he’d longed for his entire life. No longer would he be beholden to the book or his family. He could live the life he wanted, but did he want a life in which Sorrel didn’t exist? Could he live with the guilt? Why had the book led him to her? It had said, The story to be told has been in the making for many years. But how it ends will be up to you. He had the power to end it all. Did the book’s riddle mean that his family was meant to be the victor? What if he was thinking of the wrong story? The wrong ending? Either way, he knew it wouldn’t be a happy one. Regardless of what Eric would do, she was on his family’s radar, and they would stop at nothing until she and her book were destroyed.
Eric held up Tara and stared into her blue eyes, reminiscent of her owner’s. “You’re going to hate me for what I do next.” He set the cat down on the hardwood floor and stood, now that his strength was back. Tara wound herself around his legs, making him think that he should get a cat. But he wanted more than just a cat to curl up next to. He wanted the woman who had a dozen plants in her room and a million pillows on her pink bed. He knew it wasn’t possible though. Only one of them could live.
He cleared his mind until it was as black as a starless night, then slid into the shadow made by her bedroom door. It was perfectly situated to allow him access to Sorrel’s nightstand drawer. Being inside the shadow felt like floating in water. And though it gave him less control over his body, the shadow would protect him from the hallucinogenic plant Sorrel was using to protect her book. Not that it was much of a deterrent in his mind. She really shouldn’t have been so careless. The drawer didn’t even have a lock. Had her family kept her oblivious to the dangers of the curse? Or was she overly cocky about her abilities? The thought seemed preposterous. He’d watched with his own eyes how she’d taken time out of her busy day to help a young mother. She’d even given her a large wad of cash. He could tell Sorrel fretted about the mother discovering the money before she left, as if she wanted none of the credit. That was not the way of a conceited person.
