Would he be proud of the work I was doing—the discoveries I was making?
Or, like Rohak, would he be disappointed in what I’d done in order to get this far?
“Never known you to be a coward,” I imagined him saying.
Mentally, I rolled my eyes, but a smile played on my lips.
“Just go and let him see that big heart of yours,” Holt continued, crossing his massive arms over his chest.
“I don’t have a heart,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the feeling that this conversation wasn’t real. Holt wasn’t here. He was dead. And the only place I’d ever be able to see him again was here in my mind, frozen in time.
“No, it’s not real. But he is. You have to let someone in, little Fay,” Holt cajoled, and I stifled a sob. “You can’t keep going like this. Keeping all of this to yourself. Burning the candle from both ends with just Cotton as company.”
I let the tears fall freely down my face for the second time tonight before wiping them away with the back of my hand.
“I miss you,” I whispered aloud to no one but myself and the empty room.
“It’s okay to miss me. But it’s not okay to stop living,” Holt lectured. I sighed, opening my eyes, tattooed fingers still clutched tight around the crystal at my neck.
He was right, of course. Holt was always right.
I’d always miss his deep-brown skin and eyes that danced with mischief while holding so much love for me. But just because I missed him didn’t mean I stopped what I was doing, stopped feeling and loving.
Holt’s death meant I lost my only confidant and the only person I considered a parent.
I doubted that Rohak would ever let me get that close. But I couldn’t deny that his presence eased something inside, making it easier to breathe if only for a moment. Like the weight of the world wasn’t on my shoulders.
Dashing the last of the salty wetness from my face, I rushed out of my room without a backward glance at Cotton.
I was going to apologize to him, reinsert myself in his life, and I prayed it was the right decision.
Chapter 33
Rohak
It was hours after I stormed into my room, and all I could think about was Faylinn.
My Destruction Magic snaking toward her trapped form.
The hitch in her breath when she noticed.
The softness of her skin against my forearm.
Her scent of pine and paper.
The way she sagged against me.
Her body pressed against the wall.
How I could feel her chest heave against my own with every breath.
The thought of wedging my thigh between her legs, pressing my body against hers, my mouth on her mouth . . .
Faylinn, Faylinn, Faylinn. It was a repetitive cycle of guilt and arousal when I thought about the near miss tonight.
I could have killed her.
I also could have kissed her.
