Another thick, thirsty swallow.
Another silent whisper—this one closer to his spine.
“Yes …”
“I’m healed, so why am I still …” I clear my throat, cheeks burning, “hungryfor you?”
He pushes his head deeper into my chest.
A long, agonizing pause before his baritone rumbles through my mind like a boulder battling against the walls of my skull:‘From now on, you’ll need my blood daily. Or you’ll wither. Go slowly mad. If you go long enough without it … you’ll die.’
I choke on the heavy punch of his crippling admission, passed to me in such a deeply personal way that I can still feel their echo settling into the folds of my brain.
The Safe …
The goblet …
The single drop of blood …
Suddenly, it all makes such explosive sense.
My knees buckle, but he holds me up, his hands scaling my back, pulling me to him. A lone word thrums through me, emerging from the epicenter of that seed tucked amongst my ribs.
It pounds into my heart.
My soul.
Blazes through me like a falling star, leaving a raw, gaping slash ofconfusion.
Mate.
I know, without a doubt, that I’ve never thought a truth so pure.
Tears carve down my cheeks as he swallows, tightening his arms. Subtle confirmation that squeezes my heart just as much.
A hazy memory comes to me, nudging, then prodding.
Shoving for attention.
The two of us near my rose garden,hiswords cutting into me like the jagged edge of a serrated blade …
I draw a ragged breath, hold it, blow it out slow. “Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale,” I whisper.
He stiffens.
I mine a few tender vines of courage, bind them around my heart, and continue. “A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy.”
Silence …
I pull away.
He looks up, the shadow of something unreadable passing across his chiseled features.
Drawing a steadying breath, I focus on his swirling silver eyes that seem to plead with me—like he knows exactly what I’m about to ask.
“Why are we a tragedy, Rhordyn?”
There’s a stillness about this place, like even the wind’s afraid to stir the tidal lake of Athandon. To reach across the water and brush the steep, gray volcano that lords from the lake’s epicenter.
