Page 33 of Realm of the Wicked

‘Maybe you should just provide me with a list of everything that could kill me in your house,’ she huffed.

I wanted to smile as I watched the pretty pink flush spread across her cheeks. I had a feeling she had no idea quite how captivating she was. The black dress I’d suggested to Agatha fit her perfectly, draping around her soft curves and emphasizing the deep brown of her eyes. I’d stare at her forever, if I thought I wouldn’t get caught.

I laughed quietly. ‘I could get you a list, but it would be quite long. Probably easier for you to just stick to the spaces you know. Your bedroom. The kitchen. The dining room. The gardens.’

‘Your office?’ She raised a brow.

Yes. Anywhere you’d like. ‘You know the rules about my office.’

‘You didn’t seem bothered.’

‘I wasn’t particularly busy.’ I’d never be too busy for you. ‘Come. Follow me. I want to show you something.’

Knowing she’d follow, I turned and left the dark hall, leading us back to the brighter lights of the main rooms. I ignored her queries about where we were headed. Leading her to a pair of ornate mahogany doors between my office and her quarters, I stopped and waited for her to catch up.

Her eyes were bright, and filled with curiosity. ‘Is this a safe place for me?’

‘Yes. This is one of the few spaces I added on myself when I moved in. Nothing in here is dangerous to you.’ Except maybe me. ‘Maybe this will keep you out of some trouble at least.’

She rolled her eyes, reaching past me for the handle. ‘You make it sound like I can’t handle myself.’

I refrained from snapping back, not wanting to miss the moment she opened the door and realized what she was standing in front of.

‘A library,’ she whispered, stepping inside the room. I watched her as she spun, taking in the endless wooden shelves, lined with every title you could possibly think of. The large window at the front of the room let in the moonlight, framing the books in an almost ethereal glow. Rain pattered against the glass, a quiet melody. I’d spent a lot of time carefully arranging couches and chairs in all the corners of the room, these ones far more comfortable than the formal furniture elsewhere in the house. But now looking at it, I realized it was missing blankets. She’d said she was cold, and how would she read without a blanket?

As Stella wandered the aisles, I realized how magical she looked in the moonlight as well. It softened her features, taking away the grief and burdens she carried. Her skin glowed, making her look otherworldly as she pulled a book off the shelf.

She was the most effortlessly stunning creature I’d ever seen, and I had doomed myself because of it. Yet, I couldn’t find it in me to regret my actions.

She wanted me to take her soul, but how could I even imagine doing such a thing when her soul was the most extraordinary thing this world had created? Gentle, yet strong. Empathetic, yet tough.

Stella was a beautiful contradiction I never wanted to unravel.

How could she even expect me to just take it? Didn’t she recognize the lengths I would go to protect her?

But that was the problem. She didn’t know. And there was no way for her to know while I stayed silent, afraid to make anything worse. Stella didn’t need to carry more weight. I wanted her to rest.

‘Have you read everything in here?’

I shook off my spiraling train of thoughts to focus on Stella’s question. ‘I’m sure there are a few I missed. But you have a lot of time on your hands when you have forever.’

Stella looked up at me over the book she held in her hand, a smile in her eyes, unafraid. I couldn’t make out which book she had, but the cover was wrapped in a deep blue fabric. ‘How long has this been here?’

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, wandering over to the closet shelf, needing to do something – anything – to distract me from looking into Stella’s eyes and making everything worse. ‘When I first realized quite how long forever was, I knew I needed a hobby. I’d always enjoyed reading. Creating spaces within the Fringe is fairly simple, and as for the books… I collected them over the years during my time on Earth. You’ll find some books are older than you’d expect, and some are fairly recent.’

I ran my fingers over the spines, a collection of old friends. A dull thud told me Stella had reshelved whatever book she’d had in her hand, and her quiet footsteps crept closer.

‘These are some of my favorites. Not that they needed announcing. I’m sure the worn spines speak for themselves.’ I tapped the closest book to me, convincing myself I didn’t need to spin around to look at Stella. I didn’t need to look in her eyes.

I didn’t need to touch her.

She stepped closer, the back of her hand brushing mine as she reached for a book. ‘A Streetcar Named Desire,’ she whispered, a laugh hidden in her voice. ‘This was one of my favorites when I was younger. My mom always said she named me after it.’

Was that… was that hope that flickered in my veins, thrumming alive? It was impossible. That feeling was long dead, replaced with nothing but contempt. Yet, here, with Stella’s eyes alive for the first time in who knows how long, laughing with me, there was a chance of a real possibility.

The hope of hope.

But those emotions were only good for one thing: ripping you to shreds in the aftermath.