Page 159 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Nothing,” he says, leaning in closer. “You did.”

“You’re lying.”

He lifts his other hand and lowers the avatar so I can see the skin on his palm, revealing his mark. If he had been in my dreams, it would still be inflamed from the breaking of the pact, yet it looks completely lifeless.

“Any other theories?”

“Can you back up? Being this close to you turns my stomach,” I growl, though I make no move to push him away.

“Then why are you dreaming about me fucking you?” He smirks.

I bristle. “I wasn’t.”

“Liar.” He tilts his head. “Was it accurate?”

“Back off,” I demand, and this time, I shove at his chest. Annoyingly, he doesn’t even rock back on his heels. He grabs my hand and holds it up, studying the matching oath mark on my palm.

“I suppose we don’t need this anymore since you dream about my cock at night,” he says with smug humor.

“The oath remains,” I snarl, trying to yank my hand free.

“Why? If you dream about me anyway?” he asks with a chuckle, adjusting his hold to lace his fingers with mine.

“I—”

He leans in closer. “Seems like you’re the one breaking the oath. Not me,” he whispers, cutting off my protest.

“How?” I ask, trying to move back, but there is nowhere to go with the wall at my back.

“The oath was that I was to stay out of your dreams, yet here you are putting me into them.”

I glare at him. “Only because you’re fucking with my mind somehow. Probably when you’re invading my brain.”

“Ah.” And while I can’t see the eye roll, I can hear it in his voice. “And there it is. Your favorite defense mechanism.”

I try to push at his chest again, but he doesn’t move.

“How much easier it is for you to blame me than to accept the truth.”

“It is the truth,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“The truth, little fae, is that I am in your dreams because you want me there.”

“No.”

“Then why do you dream of my touch, princess?” he asks, tilting his head. When I don’t reply, he scoffs and pushes off the wall, turning and giving me his back. He looks out at the starry sky, and it reminds me of a time last year, but everything feels . . . worse. I am not sure how, though, because I thought nothing could compare to the guilt I felt last year, growing closer to the stranger while Connor slept upstairs.

“Your fantasies have always belonged to you,” he says. “Does that terrify you?” he asks. “To know the only person to blame for your dreams is you?” He glances at me over his shoulder when I don’t reply and lets out a heavy sigh. “But you’re not ready to admit that. It’s easier to blame me for everything.” He turns back to the darkness. “I can take it,” he says, and his voice sounds almost sorrowful.

I look away from him, not able to face even his back. “We need to stop training together.” I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep up with the lies, the repression.

“Why?” he asks.

“I need you out of my life.” And it’s the most honest thing I’ve said to him in a long time.

He pushes his hands into his pockets. “I am your life,” he says, his voice sounding unconcerned again.

“I don’t want this.”