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“Love it?” Tristan shook his head. “I think you're reaching for an excuse to help me.”

“I'm not!”

“Destiny, if that was true, and Severing made a Curse happy enough to stop hurting its vessel, then the Curses who have been severed would have told us.”

“Does every Curse hurt its vessel? The only member of the Conclave who seems to suffer is Bart.”

He snorted. “Because the only way Bart can resist his Pull is to get drunk himself. Even if he doesn't resist, he ends up drinking at whatever bar Hangover takes him to.”

“All right.” I processed this. “But that just makes my point. Every Curse is different. Love wouldn't make Hangover happy, but it's the perfect remedy for Heartbreak.”

Tristan went still, staring at me. “It did feel happy. Relieved. But that Pull was different. In seventeen hundred years, I have never felt it behave like that.”

I left the love and Severing conversation for later and considered the latest attack. “They must be trying to wear you down.”

Tristan's jaw went tight. “They know my limit now.”

“Do they?” I grinned at him. “The next time the Pull hits, we know what to do.”

“It didn't hurt you?” He squeezed my hand.

“Only until I accepted it deeper, into my heart. Then it felt good. I don't think it will hurt me again.”

“I don't want to hope,” Tristan whispered.

“You don't have to. We've already proven it can be done.”

“Destiny, that happiness is already fading. I can feel Heartbreak returning to its usual state.”

“So we have to experiment with it and see what happens. At least we have a way to defend you. Things aren't as bleak as they were this morning.” I leaned over and kissed him.

Tristan kissed me back and when we ended the kiss, he smiled. “That much I agree with.”

“Come on. Let's go back to the estate.”

We drove back to Great Falls in silence, both of us lost to our thoughts. The dusk had settled into a deep, ink-blue evening by the time we passed back through the Conclave's iron gates. Bart was waiting in the courtyard, giving us an assessing look as we parked. Once he saw Tristan's face, his shoulders lowered.

“Let's not tell them about this yet,” Tristan said. “We don't know what it means.”

“Okay. But they'll find out the next time Fabian uses the name.”

“Hopefully, that won't be for a while.” He got out of the car.

“No problems?” Bart asked as we came up the steps.

I handed him the keys, letting Tristan handle the lie.

Tristan said, “It was awful, but no, there weren't any issues.”

“All right. Get some rest. I'll send up some dinner for the both of you.” Bart headed to the kitchen.

We went upstairs to our guest suite, and as soon as the door was shut, I released an exhausted breath. Tristan sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his feet. There was so much to say, but not now. Instead, I knelt in front of him and removed his shoes.

Tristan watched me quietly, his eyes dark with vulnerability. When I reached for the buttons of his damp shirt, he caught my wrists gently, holding my hands against his chest.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” he murmured. “The ugliness of it.”

“I didn't see any ugliness.” I met his gaze steadily. “I saw people living their lives—pain is a part of it.”