She leaves it unsaid but it radiates around us as if she screamed it.
“Aura—”
But she’s already turned, that storm of silken hair lashing behind her as she stalks toward her room.
I follow.
I don’t think. I just move. Like she’s a magnet I can’t resist.
She stops in the doorway. Her fingers grip the frame.
The room in front of her glows softly from the city lights filtering through the blinds. The sheets on the bed are rumpled. Her backpack leans half-unpacked against the wall. It’s not much. But it’s hers.
“And I like it here,” she says, her back still to me. “I like the mess. The weird smells. The tiny fridge. I like the fact that no one here knows who I am or what I’ve done or what I’ll always have to do to survive.”
Her fingers grip the doorframe harder.
“I like knowing that tomorrow I won’t wake up to silk curtains or be treated like I’m made of porcelain. Or worse,” she swallows hard, “like I’m something to be feared. And you, standing here, judging it—judgingme—makes you no better than the rest of them.”
For a second, I think she’s going to slam the door.
But she doesn’t. She simply goes to bed. Slipping between the sheets, she turns away from me.
The door is left open.
Always open.
Leaving me here.
Burning.
I want to tell her she’s right. That this can be a new start for her. That she can forget where she came from, and what she is.
But I know better.
She thinks if she changes the scenery, she can change the story. But no matter how far she runs, she’s still carrying the very thing she wants to escape.
Her hunger. Her magic. Her curse.
This isn’t a place that will make her dreams come true simply because she wants it.
I see now my words won’t reach her—not when she’s this determined. But I’m not going anywhere. Even if I wasn’t bound by a vow of fealty, I wouldn’t leave her out here, exposed and alone.
I return to the lumpy couch, positioning myself as comfortably as I can. I fold my arms across my chest as I stare up at the stained ceiling.
She wants a life here. A future. Something beyond survival. I see it in the way she smiles at the mess of this place.
How long has she been letting these ideas stew and boil inside her? Too long to be subdued by logic.
Some things can’t be told. They need to be lived.
Aurora is going to have to find out for herself that this dream can only end a nightmare. And it very well might leave her shattered.
All I can do is be here to help her gather the pieces.
Even if she never lets me hold them.
An intense feeling of being watched suddenly cuts through me. I slowly turn my head and meet the glowing feline eyes of Lucifer. The cat is sitting there on the coffee table, tail twitching, watching me with unnerving intensity. Then his body tenses and coils into itself.
