Page 120 of Juniper Unraveling

“I’m not what you think I am, Wren. I never was. I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn’t.”

“What do I think you are, Rhys?”

His throat bobs with a swallow, eyes tracking me like an animal, like he’s reeling in the urge to pounce. “I was a kid when you found me. Messed up, but I never hurt anyone. Only blood I ever shed back then was my own. Everything’s different now. I do what I want out here. There’s no rules. No laws. Nothing to stop—”

“Did you bring me here to kill me, then?”

“No. I don’t know why I brought you here.” He rubs a hand down his face and across his nape. “I hear voices, sometimes. Loud, angry voices. Sometimes, louder than my own.” Both his hands stroke the top of his head, and eyes clamped closed, he stills for a moment. “You know how fucked up that is? Crazy people hear voices.” He sneers and sets his attention back on me. “Things I’ve had to do to survive out here, you’d never forgive me for.”

“You’ve forgotten who I am, too, then.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything about you. So pure. And good.” His eye twitches as he stares down at me, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. “I should probably take you back. It was a mistake bringing you here.”

“These voices … they tell you to do bad things?”

His jaw tics, those shadows in his eyes answering for his silence.

“That’s why you collect the skulls, right? Those voices tell you to kill. They tell you to enjoy it. They tell you that the pain will go away with every life you take. Is that it?”

The furrow in his brow deepens, but he doesn’t bother to answer.

“What are they telling you now?” I dare to ask, braving a step toward him.

He steps back. “To take.”

“Is that what you want?” Another step forward. “Is that what you need? To take from me?”

His face is stoic, hard. But beneath all the cold armor is a fragile core, fighting the demons I know he harbors inside his mind.

“It’s not taking, if I willingly give it to you, is it?” I inch closer still, only this time, he doesn’t move.

His body is a wall of rigid tension, as the cords in his arms and jaw pull so taut, they quiver. Hands balled into tight fists, he shakes his head. “I want you too much, Wren. Scares the shit outta me, how bad I want you right now. Just lookin’ at you makes my chest hurt.” His gaze refuses to meet mine, but twists with whatever unseen agony is churning in his mind, and he slams the heel of his palm against his temple. “Voices, though. They’re so goddamn loud. It’s all I hear. Like some kinda freak.”

“That’s why the others fear you. That’s why they chain you up like an animal.”

“They have to.” The torment in his eyes weighs heavy on my heart. “Sometimes, it’s too much. Too loud, and I just snap.”

“Snap how?”

“I don’t know.” He strokes his chin, eyes lost like he’s caught up in one of those blackout moments at this very moment. “Most times, I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s like, something takes over, and I’m just along for the ride.”

“Were they good people? The ones you’ve killed?”

The corner of his lips twitches with his shrug. “What’s good anymore? We’re all sociopaths out here. Some are just more advanced.” His eyes soften with sadness. “Wish I could remember what goodness felt like, though.”

“I was never afraid of you, Six. I’m not afraid of your voices, or your demons. I know what’s inside your heart. And you don’t scare me. You never have.” As I reach out a hand, he flinches, but I reach, anyway. Guiding his face to mine, I stare up at him. “Don’t let those voices tell you there isn’t goodness in you, because I’ve seen it. I’ve touched it.”

“That boy is dead, Wren. He’s hungrier now. Starving.” His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip, as his eyes devour me. “I’m not sure I have the same control where you’re concerned.”

“You hardly reined it in then. You also told me you’d never let anyone, or anything, hurt me. Including you. And I believe you.” I push up on my tiptoes, cupping his stiff jaw, and kiss him. “That cold, hollow feeling in your chest? I feel it, too.” Eyes on his, I slide my hand down to his chest. “Something happened to your heart, Rhys. I don’t know if I can fix it. But I’m damn well going to try.”

His eyes study mine, staring past their glassy surface into the very depths of my soul. “When was the last time you were with a man, little bird?”

I’ve been with a few bastards, but only one I’d call a man. “On a blanket of lasthenia, beneath the moon.”

The twitch of his cheek tells me this pleases him. “I remember that night well.” He leans in, eyes shuttering, and kisses me so tenderly, my knees weaken, threatening to give out beneath me. “I can’t wait for you much longer.” The gruff tone of his voice bleeds desperation, which calls to some primitive craving in me to soothe him.

Gripping his vest, I yank him to my face and slant my lips over his, dragging his bottom lip through my teeth. I push his vest off his shoulders, and the leather falls to the ground behind him. The hard planes of his muscles, carved out by deep grooves, draw my palms to his chest, and the solid form of his pectorals slides beneath my skin, as I drag my hand down to his stomach, which ripples with my touch.