Page 29 of Dark Night of the Soul

“I was there,” I snapped. And shoved that ugly memory once again to the back of my mind.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “She chose once. You survived it. We all did. If you keep making these decisions for her, you will not survive the next one.”

Killian left me alone at the edge of the forest, retreating back into his woodland sanctuary. I bent to pick up the knife, wiping the steel on the blades of grass, then sheathing it.

He was wrong about one thing. I would survive anything if it meant she was alive and breathing. Even if she was angry. Even if she hated me.

Let her hate me. As long as she lived, I could endure that.

Chapter 11 | Anna

It was after dark before I saw him again. Long after dinner. Long after I’d rambled around the manor trying to burn off the angry energy that had stuck with me since our argument.

I hadn’t burned it off. If anything, I’d grown increasingly angrier as the day wore on. I wasn’t fit for company. My mother, Grace, and Ophelia all steered clear of me. They sensed the tension in the air, but none of them were brave enough to ask.

I wondered if he intended to show himself at all.

I went to my old room and snatched a book off the shelf—a tattered copy of The Time Machine. Some part of me wished I could climb in one and rewind the day. If only to tell my past self, do not engage.

By the time I’d settled onto the bed and cracked open the book, the bedroom door opened. He stood there for a long minute, hand on knob, as if assessing if he was allowed inside.

The first thing I noticed was a smudge of something dark along the front of his shirt. The second thing I noticed was the grass stains on his pants. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed to his elbows. His right arm had a slash with dried blood. I looked at his hand—the one not on the knob—and thought I saw dried blood staining his skin.

I blinked, letting this sink in as I looked at him. And then the terror crawled up my spine and lodged in my throat.

He’d killed someone. Because of me.

When I said nothing, he closed the door, and he stepped into the room. He moved past me into the bathroom and shut the door with a snap. I heard water running in the sink. Then the shower.

So, he was going to clean up and pretend like there wasn’t a dead man somewhere on the grounds of the estate.

I forgot the book in my lap. I couldn’t focus on it even if I wanted to. I stared at the page but didn’t see the words. My heart pounded hard.

We’d fought together, sure. We’d killed together, too. But that was killing demons and high lords. That was not killing… others.

My mouth went dry.

I sat there trying to decide what to say to him when he emerged.

If he was willing to kill for me without telling me, what else was he willing to do?

The water cut off. There was silence for a long minute. I heard movement. The rustle of clothing. The swish of a towel.

Then he came out with damp hair wearing clean clothes—like he’d stashed them in there earlier—and still armed. His arm was bandaged.

He didn’t look at me.

He crossed the room to the window, his hand on the hilt of the knife. His face was a mask of resolve and determination. A man on a mission.

I understood exactly what he was doing. He intended to stand there all night.

“You killed someone.” The words came out flat. Factual.

He stilled. “Yes.”

Cold dread settled through me. No denial. No justification. That made it real.

“On the grounds,” I continued. “Close enough to the manor that you came back with blood on your hands.”