“Explain,” I ground out.
Miranda lowered the chip bag. “Bianca came to me. She said if I kill you, something terrible is going to happen. End of the world terrible.”
My teeth cracked under the pressure of my clenched jaw. They would heal later. And I would hate even that. I was broken and I wanted to feel every piece of my brokenness. Chop myself up into little pieces until I looked how I felt. Box my bits up, send them to Miranda with a red bow. The tag would read, “I go to pieces.”
My crazy runaway train of thought jerked to a halt, bringing me back to clarity. I would never do that to Miranda.
I was struck by the miracle of that. When I started to spiral there was usually no bringing me back from the precipice. But I’d already recovered once today, saved by the need to protect the woman across from me.
Miranda must be some kind of enchantress.
Or I simply knew she was the key to my freedom, one death at a time.
“Miranda. Please don’t do this.”
“I can’t be responsible for ending the world.” Even as she said it, I saw regret and uncertainty in her eyes. The door hadn’t fully closed on my salvation, not yet. And I planned on digging my claws in and ripping it back open.
I stepped up to the bars and encircled the cold metal with my hands. “Bianca’s visions aren’t always as they seem.”
Miranda didn’t say anything.
“Did she say how it would happen? How my death would lead to the end of the world?”
After a pause, Miranda shook her head.
I let out a sigh of relief. “How could my death possibly bring about the end of the world?”
Miranda dropped her lunch sack to the ground and pushed off from her chair. “I don’t know. You tell me.” Frustration edged her words. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
And she was. I knew it. Miranda was like Grim in that she was trying to protect others. Yet she somehow missed how terribly delicate and fragile her own humanity was. I coveted her humanity, and the power she held in her delicate being.
“Killing me is the right thing, Miranda.” The lights flickered and Miranda stepped back from my flux of power. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the bars.
Her brown eyes widened. They were a couple shades lighter than her skin, making for an irresistible contrast of color. Like sparkling brown sugar irises set against rich walnut. And I wondered, not for the first time, if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
With my other hand, I reached through the bars and caught her face. My thumb stroked along her jawline, trying to ease the pain I caused her. She inhaled sharply but didn’t move away. “Miranda, if I thought there was a chance my demise would end the world—would end your world—I wouldn’t ask.”
I sunk every bit of meaning, of feeling into those words. I needed her to believe me.
Maybe I’d been cut off from the world outside too long, but Miranda somehow connected me to it again. It hadn’t taken much, but it was true all the same.
“How can I tru—believe you?”
I realized there was something more here for both of us. Something pulsating. Something alive. Something connecting us.
Her body pressed against the bars, meeting my hard chest with her soft curves. My fingers trailed across her cheek. Fucking hell her skin was so smooth, so soft, over a bone structure that would make any man hard to gaze upon.
But she was more than skin and bones. So much more. My little badass. Who was free to live her life, but I could see invisible chains around her. She held herself back, and I wanted to rip away the constraints so very badly.
My gaze dropped to her lips. Full, inviting lips made me forget how to breathe. “Miranda. Please,” I rasped, caught in a whirl of desire and desperation. I wasn't sure what I was pleading for anymore.
Her breath hitched, shallow and fast, and I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind, could see the battle waging in her eyes.
“Wish granted,” she murmured, her voice as sharp as the weapon she plunged into my chest, a cold, keen contrast to the heat brewing between us. The breath hitched in my throat, as my heart split under the blade.
The pain was immediate, intense, yet it wasn't enough to tear my eyes away from hers. There, in those beautiful depths, I saw conflict, uncertainty – a mirror of my own.
Her indecision stabbed me sharper than any blade. I'd placed this burden on her, forced her to bear the weight of my death. Guilt gnawed at my conscience, but it was too late to take it back. Instead, I reached through the bars, pulling her face to mine.
