Page 84 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Just go to sleep,” he growls.

I whirl on him. “No. I want you to tell me what the fuck you want from me. Why are you here?” I don’t know if I’m emboldened by the darkness, whether it’s the effects of the realm, or if it’s just all built up for so long that I can’t hold it back anymore. “Why are you everywhere except—” I stop mid-sentence. I don’t want to go there. Not now.

His shoulders go rigid. His back is still to me, but tension radiates off him. He is silent for a long moment before he breaks it. “Ask me.”

“I . . .”

“You started something. Finish it.”

Rage curdles inside me, and I’m not sure I can hold on to it any longer. “Where were you when I was tied to a chair being tortured by some psychopath?” I ask, the rage in my voice sending a chill down my spine, the power behind it. “When I was cut, stabbed, slashed, and sliced?” I continue, watching his back, feeling all that anger coiling into the most destructive spring. “When Connor—” I choke then, grief wrinkling the anger. “Where were you?”

He remains tense, still not looking at me, and his voice when it comes at me in the dark is terrifyingly calm. “I was killing the backup.”

This time, it’s my turn to tense.

“By the time I knew what was happening, it was already too late.” The regret is heavy in his voice, but I don’t believe him. I can’t. I need to exist in a world where he feels nothing. No regrets, no remorse. “So I laid waste to her sect of religious fanatics and their plans to complete their twisted desires.” The cold edge I am used to from him returns. “And I enjoyed it,” he says. Something about his words, about the way he uses them, stirs something else inside me.

I can only stare at him.

“I should have . . . I knew something was going on, but I was . . . so fucking furious at you. So I wasn’t watching as closely, and then it was too late.” The sadness in his voice stabs me in the chest. “I was too late,” he says, the words barely a whisper.

I swallow, the tears pooling and burning my eyes. My head is a complete chaos of thoughts, emotions, lies, and truths. I need to say something, say anything, but I choose the cowardly option and lie back down. Turning onto my other side, I curl into a ball, trying to hold together my pieces, not that holding my pieces ever stopped me from breaking more.

“I would never wish this agony upon you, not like this. Never like this,” he whispers into the darkness between us.

The tears finally fall, scalding my cheeks.

The bed dips behind me, and suddenly his arms are enfolding me again. In one quick movement, he’s turned me so my face is buried against his chest.

I pull back, looking up at him. “Stranger⁠—”

“Shh,” he says, cupping my cheek. “Just for tonight.”

His eyes burn into mine, his warmth seeping into me. “This doesn’t change anything.”

I have no fucking idea why I do it, but I relent completely, submitting to him. I don’t know if it’s because I’m desperate for some comfort. Is it because I believe him? I don’t know if it’s because I am so sick of my heart breaking, not just because of Connor dying, but also because I lost the stranger. My friend. All I know is that right now, my darkness is no longer raging, cutting, and biting at me. Within the comfort of his arms, it swirls calmly, and the respite is allowing that part of my heart to stitch itself slowly back together. All I know is that his warmth is exactly what I need right now.

The stranger tunnels his fingers into my hair and inhales deeply. A soft moan escapes his throat, and I exhale, allowing him to shoulder some of the weight of the fear, guilt, and anger that have been my burdens since that day. Feeling safe for the first time in months, I drift off into the abyss.

Chapter Forty-Two

The Stranger

With the morning comes the harsh light of Hell slashing through the window. Summer’s nose wrinkles, and she turns her face into my chest more to avoid it, seeking shelter in me.

I meant what I said. I would never have wished this grief on her. Despite my insane need to possess her, to claim her as mine and mine alone, I would not wish this loss for her. Though I doubt she believes the truth of my words. I wouldn’t believe her if our roles were reversed.

Brushing her hair back from her face, I frown at the curved slope of her ear in her demon glamour. When had I become so obsessed with the pointed tips of her ears in her true form? Ears certainly were not a focus for me in the past. But hers? I am enamored with them. Actually, pretty much every part of her has me obsessed.

I rub my thumb against her lips, wondering how it would feel to kiss her as myself? No glamour, no avatar, just me. Her lips part and she moans softly in her sleep. Leaning in, I hover my lips over hers, sucking her breath into me, inhaling her.

It’s as close to a kiss as I can manage. She glides her hand over my chest, and I arch helplessly into her touch, emitting a low, rumbling purr. As if seeking the source of the sound, she digs her nails into my skin and drags them over my pecs. I muffle a groan at the small bite of pain.

“Princess,” I whisper hoarsely. “Wake up.”

It takes a moment for her eyes to open. I miss the beautiful blue that seems to see right into my soul, but even through the dark brown of the glamour, I can see that they are free of the pain that normally haunts her. There is only that slight glimmer of darkness she claims not to have, that piece of the void that calls so desperately to my abyss.

She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t try to pull away. She just stares up at me, her cheeks lightly flushed with the remnants of sleep. My gaze catches on her soft lips. I could just lean in and press my⁠—