“And?” I pushed, stepping closer. “Where is he, Yendor?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation snapped something in me, and I lunged forward, grabbing his arms and shaking him. “What happened?!”
He tore himself out of my grip and stumbled back a step. His eyes flashed again, this time with something hotter.
“It’s your fault!” he shouted, the words tearing out of him. “Your fault his wings were almost ripped off!”
The world tilted. My arms dropped to my sides, lifeless.
“What—no,” I breathed, shaking my head hard. “No, that’s not?—”
The image hit anyway. Alto on the ground. Blood. Wings torn.
“No.” My voice cracked, and I surged forward again. I grabbed his shirt this time, my fingers twisting into the fabric. “You’re lying!”
He didn’t fight me. Didn’t deny it. His silence was enough.
A broken sound dragged out of my throat as the weight of it crashed down.
A fairy’s wings. You didn’t touch those. You didn’t damage them.
That wasn’t just the pain; it was a theft of their identity. Lifeblood. The only way to find your mate was when the colors changed, signifying you were taken.
And because of me, he….
“Why would he do that?” My grip tightened, knuckles whitening. “Why would he do that for me? For some stupid?—”
My voice broke. Tears blurred my vision as I looked up at him. The room was spinning, and his face doubled as I spoke aloud the phrase I hated.
“—human pet?”
My head tipped back, a strangled sob ripping free as the tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable.
Yendor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “My point exactly.”
Something inside of me gave up, and I staggered back, hitting the desk hard enough to rattle it, the edge digging into my spine.
Alto was hurt because I couldn’t stay out of it. Because I didn’t know my place. Because I?—
Yendor brushed at his wrinkled shirt where I’d grabbed him, removing me like dirt, then turned and stalked toward the door.
He didn’t look back, but he paused at the door, and for a moment, the room held its breath.
“He told me not to tell you,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. “Didn’t want youworrying.”
A beat fell between us, then his voice became quieter. His next words came out with an almost bitter edge. “What a mess athinglike you has made.”
Then the door swung open and closed, the sound so final. My world was crumbling to pieces, and just like that, I was alone. Again.
My legs gave out.
The floor came up fast, feeling cold against my palms as I crumpled, and the sound of my guilt tore out of me before I could stop it, loud, broken, ugly, and the shop swallowed it whole.
Folding in on myself, my arms wrapping tight around my torso. I was shaking so hard my teeth clicked together.
Why is it always like this? Why does everything I touch end up breaking? End up beaten and bloody.The questions looped, over and over, louder than my own breathing.
