But I wasn’t alone.
I let it happen. Over and over again, I chose to believe in my curse rather than face the truth: I wanted to believe I was the martyr, not the executioner.
And now? Now I know better.
I should be angry with myself.Maybe I am…
But I can’t seem to feel anything except this fire, burning wild and furious inside me. Not because I was guilty, but because he made me feelrighteousin it. Because while I begged the universe for forgiveness, Death stood beside me… and let me shoulder what was his to carry.
No. He didn’t lie to protect me. He let me believe I wasdamned.
And I don’t know what’s worse.
Madi could still have a father. She might still be alive. James. Regina. The countless others…
My heart tore itself into ribbons inside my chest. James was not my soul mate, but he had been my husband. The father of my children. And I had carried the guilt of his death as a noose around my neck, never realizing it wasn't mine to bear.
It was Grim's.
The front door slammed shut with a ferocity only I recognized. Death knew of my sorrow, but he had not tasted my fury.
thirty-three
Grim
Iknew the second she touched my memories, her fingers rooting their way into my mind.
Yet I waited.
Long enough for her to discover the truth, but not long enough that she’d disappear without ever speaking to me again. She was right to hate me. The bitterness she spewed was without fault. I hated me too, but Death was honest.
But damn it, she’s made the same as I am.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Her light contrasted my darkness, balancing us out until we stood as equal as the sun and moon. Yet, our symmetry would do little to persuade her to forgive me. I killed her husband, for fucks sake—although the bastard deserved it. How was I to know that she’d have been able to send souls on? I should have known. Perhaps it’s true what they say,that anger blinds.
The house had fallen still, too still. As if it were holding its breath. Dust motes hovered like spirits in the air, suspended ingolden shafts of fading light. Outside, the storm that had rolled in from the east let loose a low, distant growl. Rain tapped against the glass in rhythmic, mocking sympathy.
I found her on the floor of our bathroom, her body crumpled and pitifully tucked into the corner, like a skittish cat. The scene made me frown. Astoria spoke not a single word, a steady stream of gentle tears tracking down her cheeks as I lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. Setting her down, I backed up, walking myself toward the far corner to give her space.
She would leave, that I was certain of, but I was grateful she at least gave me this.
I waited patiently, wondering if she would hold out until I spoke the first word. Eventually, her perfect lips parted and all that was whispered were my own words, spoken back to me.
“Death, what have you done?”
It was akin to being stabbed with your own knife.Wildly uncomfortable.
“I had to, Star.”
She jerked back, her eyes flicking up to me. “Don’t call me that.”
It wounded me, but I expected it,deserved it even.And eventually she would see that I did this for her. Everything was for her. I’d lost my own heart along the way, the one I’d grown just for her, but that was the cost of such love.
She was worth it.
“How could you?” she demanded, a bit more fire behind her bite.
