Page 251 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Fuck.”

“It’s fine, Sum. I’ll heal.”

I meet Max’s eyes, the guilt compounding and threatening to consume me because this is all my fault. Everything is my fault. I cup his cheek again. “Max, I am . . . so sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t break my arm,” Max says, shaking his head.

I stroke his cheek, tears filling my eyes again. What have I done? I may not have broken his arm directly, but I am the cause, and being here is just putting him in even more danger.

“Max, I should go, but if you need anything, text me.” I place his phone on the bedside table.

Max frowns. “Sum?” he says, watching me. “Maybe you should stay. I have a bad feeling that if you leave, something bad is going to happen.”

He felt the danger. He experienced it, but he doesn’t understand what it all means or that he still isn’t safe.

I lean in and kiss his forehead. “I have something to take care of, but I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”

Max grabs my arm as I start to rise. “Be careful?” he says, not noticing my grimace of pain.

I nod and smile. “I’ll be okay. Take all the pain meds they offer. Don’t be an idiot.” Max chuckles, and I squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry, Max.”

I leave the ward, anger pulsing through me. With every step, with every reverberation of my foot against the pathway, my rage builds. When he hurt me, I understood. I saw where he was coming from because I related to him, but he hurt Max. He broke Max.

I walk into the forest as the sun begins to rise. The shifters have left, and there is an eerie silence bouncing between the trees. It doesn’t take me long to find him. He’s standing in our clearing with his back to me, and I stop at the mouth of the meadow, watching him. My anger hasn’t receded. It’s still surging through me. He glances at me over his shoulder, and I just stare at him. My skin feels hot beneath the surface, my fury simmering so close to the surface.

He turns to face me.

“You . . .” I begin, but the words turn to charred embers against my tongue.

He remains silent, watching me.

“You broke his arm,” I say. My voice is quiet, and the danger in it surprises even me. I like the way it sounds. “His hand. His fingers,” I add, standing still as a statue. “You hit him.”

“And?” he says, just standing and continuing to stare at me.

My anger flickers with uncertainty at his nonchalance. “Because he kissed me. Because he kissed someone who is unattached.”

“He should consider himself lucky,” he sneers, flexing his fingers menacingly. “I don’t usually show such restraint.”

I snarl, taking a few steps toward him. “He is innocent of everything but kissing someone. Someone he has kissed before. Many times.” I know I’m playing a dangerous game, but I want to punish him. He needs to know that I cannot forgive this. I want him to hurt like he hurt me. Like he hurt Max. “Kissing someone who hadn’t told him that she was in some twisted deal with her faceless stalker!” I yell, venom seeping into my voice.

He stares at me, his gaze piercing. Very deliberately, he opens his hand and holds it out to his side. Suddenly, I am surrounded by the clinging weight of his power, and the trees that line the clearing begin to age and then wilt, before turning to dust.

“And he is lucky to be alive,” he says, his voice guttural, his power threatening to smother me completely with the vastness of it. My darkness swirls deliciously inside me, desperate to be free, to play with his. He takes a menacing step toward me, the devastating impact of his power growing more terrifying. This male could destroy realms, destroy species.

So could you.

The voice whispers in my head, but I can barely hear it over the roar of his power, the words tumbling through the void separating us.

He closes the distance, malice and something close to wrath radiating from him. My power stretches toward his as if hungry for the chaos, instinctively seeking something only he can give. I shake my head. I can’t be like this because I refuse to be like him. Connor helped me be good. This isn’t me. I am not like him. My power is not like his. Please . . .

“You’re a fucking psycho,” I snarl, shaking my head, struggling to contain my power.

“Many have begged for my mercy,” he says.

His voice is terrifyingly calm, yet there is a slight echo of something . . . I don’t know what it is, but it’s dark, monstrous, and inviting.

“And only once have I granted it to them,” he continues.