Page 250 of Sorrow & Strangers

That’s what she was trying to say. I bury my face in my hands, more of my frustration and rage turning inward.

Without my power, I am useless. Without my abilities, I am nothing. Without her, I’m just a monster playing at being a shell of a male hiding behind a mask. A mask I’ve allowed to define me. A mask that consumes me, and now I’ve broken the only thing I’ve ever loved.

No.

He kissed her. She didn’t kiss him back. She kept her promise, and the boy needs to learn to stay away from what is mine.

No one kisses her but me. No one touches her but me. I repeat the words like a prayer over and over. It’s a litany of insanity that I build on, allowing it to spiral around me until I can no longer see the fear in her eyes. I sink deep into it, letting it drive me toward what I need to do next. The boy must pay. Just enough for my message to be clear.

You do not cross the hand of Life and Death.

The rest is a blur of anger and jealousy, of how close I teeter to just touching the sleeping berserker with my hand and turning him to dust. But the bruises I know I left on her keep flashing in my mind, reminding me of my loss of control. Despite that, I somehow exert restraint that I didn’t know I was capable of, and the boy lives.

Chapter One Hundred Three

Summer

My eyes snap open, the horrible feeling in my gut pulling me from sleep. Nothing seems out of place. Everything is quiet except for Alice snoring lightly next to me, but something feels wrong. I grab my phone. There are still no messages from the stranger, and I can’t explain it but something feels . . .

Summer

Are you okay?

There is still no answer. I climb out of bed and pull on a hoodie and my shoes. I leave my room and hurry down the stairs. Slipping out the front door, I stand on the porch to dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail, which means he’s blocked my number or his phone is dead.

I can’t shake this feeling.

Something wrong. Something wrong. Something wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, I push into a run to clear my head, taking the familiar path that will lead me around campus. To be honest, I’m also hoping that he’ll start watching me, that he’ll show up, that he’ll yell at me, punish me, kiss me. I don’t fucking care. I just want him here.

I try to call him again when I slow down in front of the gym. All the lights are off, but then my attention is drawn to Max’s apartment building next to it. Most of the lights are off, but it’s the shattered window on the fourth floor that catches my attention. The feeling that something is wrong intensifies, and I press every button at the door of Max’s building until someone lets me in. They curse rudely at me down the intercom, but I barely hear it. I’m already up a flight and a half of stairs, heading toward Max’s floor.

When I arrive on his landing I see his door is ajar. “Max?” I call, knocking tentatively before pushing his door open.

The room is loud with silence as I step into his apartment. It is sheathed in near complete darkness, the only light filtering through the thin curtains over the windows, but it’s enough to show the signs of a struggle. The succulent I got for him is on the floor, soil spilled from its small pot. The couch cushions have been ripped off the couch and are now strewn across the floor, but it’s the bloodied cloth discarded on the floor next to the mattress that terrifies me.

“Max?” I call louder, rushing to the bathroom, looking for any sign of him. I grab my phone and try to call him, but his phone shrieks loudly from under the coffee table.

Fuck.

I grab it and leave his apartment, sprinting toward the only logical place. The infirmary. If he’s not there, it’ll be straight to the headmaster. I run across campus and burst through the infirmary doors, earning a severe look from the Matron, but I don’t care, because I spot Max lying on one of the cots.

His arm is at an odd angle, and he’s getting bandaged from his fingers to his shoulders.

“Max! What happened?” I ask, running to him to cup his cheek, looking him over. His nose is bloody, and he has a split lip. “Are you okay?”

“Summer?” Max frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“What happened?” I ask, continuing to catalog his injuries.

Max hisses as the nurse tugs on his bandage. “Not sure. I woke up in pain, and there was . . . something there,” he says. “The nurse says my arm’s been shattered, hand too. She said a curse, but whatever it was got a few shots in before he left.”

I glance at the nurse before looking back at Max.

“Don’t think he would have punched me if I’d just let him leave without a fight.”

The nurse nods solemnly, and I stare at his swollen arm and hand, suspecting exactly what happened.