“You keep saying that. And yet you’ve offered no explanation to the contrary.”
I sneer at Aamon, hating how he’s taking away my ability to divulge this information in my own time. I don’t know them. Don’t trust them. Why do I owe any of them an explanation?
Aamon smirks, huffing out a breath as he angrily shrugs off Quinn’s grip. “See? She’s lying to us. She’s been sent here by Raziel to—”
“You think rather highly of yourself.” I cut him off. “To assume my father cares enough about your kind to risk contaminating me for intel. I can assure you, he’d rather Idiethan be associated with your kind.”
My words die on my tongue. Because that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? That’s exactly what he revealed by abandoning me on the edge of the WildLands. Rather than admit his own daughter had been touched by the Arcane, he drove me to the edge of town and left me to die.
“Contaminate, huh?” Aamon crosses his arms over his chest, huffing out a breath and shaking his head. “You truly are every part a member of the Watchers, Evangeline.”
He turns to walk out, but pauses at the door and throws me a look over his shoulder. “Andras has decided you can stay.” The words may as well have burned his tongue with the effort they took for him to say. “For now,” he adds. And he refuses to meet my gaze again as he slips past the doorway and into the darkness of the hall beyond.
The others trail after Aamon, but Sterling stays, helping me back into the bed—my strength apparently having been expelled with the contents of my stomach in the toilet. He has to practically carry me, to my utter humiliation. Had I been back home under my father’s watch, today would have been a treatment day.
I couldn’t remember a singular time in my life when I’d missed a treatment. I spent more time in Tamiel’s ward than I did in the Temple, and that was saying something. It’s been a jarring couple days—too much to process all at once—but I am suddenly afraid of what missing the treatments may do to me. Yes, they were grueling and intense, but I knew what to expect, knew how to deal with them. What I don’t know is what will happen to me without them—if they are any worse than what would happen to my body without Tamiel’s constant attention.
“I’m sorry about Aamon,” Sterling offers as he helps me slip below the covers. It’s dark outside now. Has been for some time, I’m sure. “It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but you must understand the kind of weight he bears as our leader.”
“I thought Andras was your leader,” I grunt, trying to get my body to respond as I attempt to turn to face Sterling.
“He is,” he answers, but I can tell there’s an air of hesitancy in his words. “But within the Blood Order there's these sort of pockets. Factions or crews if you will. Those of us who’ve built strong enough bonds to do runs together. To trust one another, to have each other’s backs when shit gets . . . complicated.”
I huff, the movement hurting my chest. “Am Icomplicated?”
Sterling lets out a breathy laugh at that. “You are many things, Angel. But yes, complicated is one of them.”
“I’m not an angel,” I remind him. But judging by the way they've all fixated on the name, I know it will do no good. Instead, I let my gaze fall to the far side of the bedroom.
“Why are you so insistent that you’re not?” Sterling asks after a minute of silence.
“You don’t know what I’ve done. What my father—” My words cut off on a strangled sound, my mouth trying to work around the lump in my throat.
“Evangeline.” Sterling’s words are calm, soft. He places his hand on my cheek, whisking away a tear that escaped without my knowledge. He gently turns my face back towards him. “We do not compare sins here.”
I don’t believe him. I want to, but the shame inside me is bone-deep. And while I highly doubt these creatures will care about my being touched by the Arcane, I don’t know how well they will take to me, a Watcher, admitting I killed one of their own.
“I know Aamon is convinced my father brought me here to spy on your kind. But the truth is—” I break off, letting out a shuddering breath. I don’t know why I’m opening up to him. Despite everything that has happened, Sterling is so disarming. It’s not just that Icanopen up to him. It’s that I have this undeniable desire to. To be on his good side, to be tucked safely within his hold.
“My father left me here, condemned me to exile.” I laugh, the noise sounding so at odds with the words I just shared. “Actually, I’m more than sure his intentions were to let me die at the hand of those ghouls. Or whatever creatures would have ventured out of the WildLands come nightfall.”
Sterling’s face screws up in confusion. “Your father . . . banished you?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“But why?”
I suck in a breath, not sure I’m entirely ready to share that truth. But perhaps a version of it would suffice. “I snuck out to the Market Ebon. My father caught me, and he warned me not to return. But I . . . I couldn’t stay away. On my next visit, a few nights ago, I was attacked.” I choke on the last word, visions of that horrendous night flooding my memories. In response, I wrap my arms around myself, curling my legs up to my chest. Sterling shifts to give me room, leveling me with an understanding look, but doesn't leave. He sits in wait. He listens. AndI realize it's the first time anyone has offered me such a space since the attack—maybe even ever.
Tears spill past my lashes as I look at his beautiful face, already healing from where Aamon hit him. His bronze skin is illuminated by the smallest sliver of moonlight breaking through the curtains of the sliding door opposite the bed. Tresses of his dark brown hair curl around his face. I have the strongest urge to reach out and tuck one behind his ear. But I don’t. Instead I look deeply into his silvery eyes, near glowing in the dark, and I let myself fall apart.
“When my father found out, he said I’d let myself be corrupted. That he couldn’t keep me hidden any longer. That I’d pushed too far.”
“Hidden?” Sterling’s face scrunches up in confusion. I shake my head, pushing past it as I’m not ready to share that bit of truth with him, yet.
“He drove me out to the edge of the WildLands, threw me out of his car. Left me there to die. If you hadn’t found me when you did—” I gag on the words, caught between the need to cry and the need to dry heave.
Sterling doesn’t hesitate to scoop me into his arms, pressing me to his chest and brushing his hand over my hair as I cry into the tender hold of this stranger.
