Page 71 of The Bonds of Indigo

“I think she’s just a victim. I don’t know if she did what they claim in Sylverton, but if you take that night out of the equation? Something terrible happened to her.”

“Hmm…”

For me, it’s not that simple. You can’t just remove the deaths of children from the equation. I’ve killed my share of people—innocent and not—and I’d never pretend to be a saint.

However, I am conflicted, because I’m starting to feel the same way he does. She saved Atlas. She saved me. Maybe it’s all calculated, maybe she’s putting on a show to keep me from snapping her neck, but her mannerisms don’t match that kind of manipulation.

“You wouldn’t have gone in willingly. Y-You would’ve…” Godsdamn when she paused… it tugged so hard on our bond. “Y-You fucking prick! Y-You can’t die! You can’t⁠—”

Maybe I’m thinking too much on it. Her motivation for keeping me alive could just be that I’m useful—someone who can help her kill whoever she needs gone, and nothing more.

But the way she reacted felt… extreme for something that simple.

A soft sound slips from her throat, and I immediately move my hand away from her leg.

“I had to take you home…”

I want to know what she meant by that. Was that place with the wisterias “home”? There are so many questions I have, and I’m exhausted from carrying all of them with no answers.

No.

I’m sick of not knowing her.

She woke not long after Atlas and I finished talking, and silence hung between all of us until we reached Ambarka.

The hotel we found sat just before the main thoroughfare. Plain as they come. Seven stories, white exterior, and a bright green sign that read “Wick Express Hotel.” It had vacancies, so we stopped about an hour ago.

Atlas got us three rooms—two on the seventh floor and one on the second. He took the second-floor room without argument, and neither Amarah nor I questioned it.

After the two of them ate at the restaurant downstairs, they went to their rooms while I sat at the bar for an hour. I don’t know why. It’s not like drinking straight from a whiskey bottle will do anything except leave my breath reeking of it.

Didn’t stop me from trying. And by the time the last drop was gone, I was just as clear-headed—and just as irritated—as before.

I take the stairs to the seventh floor, and instead of going to my own room, I stop at Amarah’s door and knock.

Her soft steps quicken to the door, pause, and I can hear the small cover over the peep hole move. She releases a heavy sigh, and something hits the door. Whether it’s her head or her hand, I’m unsure.

“Yes, Butcher?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I just got out of the shower, you?” The ‘you’ is forced and slightly irritated sounding.

“Can I come in?”

Another worn sigh rolls from her throat. “Why?”

“Just to talk.”

“If I say no, will you go away?”

I drop my head to hide the smile that comes over me. “Nope.”

A moment passes before she sighs and the door clicks. It props open just enough for her soft, “Come in,” to filter out.

I don’t hesitate to push it open and slip inside, closing it behind me.

These rooms are basic. A small entry way with a closet on the right, and the open bathroom that still has steam coming out. I can see the mirror, which has a blanket hanging over it. My head tilts down, and I see my little slayer standing between me and the main area where the bed is. A robe is all she’s wearing, along with a white towel that is wrapped around her hair.