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“I’ll stick with the dagger. Worked pretty well in the past.” Her eyes dropped down, as if reliving the moment. “Are you leaving?”
My sweatpants and bare chest had been replaced with black jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved black shirt. But the biggest tell was the untouched scotch, probably. “Yes.”
Her hard expression suddenly tightened, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes fearful. Now she looked like the woman I’d met at the cult, on her knees, watching Claire leave while she was forced to stay behind.
“Don’t be scared.”
She didn’t try to hide it. “I just… I feel better when you’re around.”
“Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I’m not around. Those freaks know that.”
“Then why did they take Claire in the first place?”
Having her home for a couple weeks helped me forget she was ever gone. The strain of my despair had quickly faded once she was in my arms again. I did my best not to dwell on the past, because it would only drown me in sorrow, make me break my vow of peace, so the question of why didn’t enter my mind. “They didn’t know who she was.”
She gave a nod in agreement.
“But now they do know—and they won’t fuck with me again.”
Her eyes dropped down to her hands, visibly uneasy.
“And, by extension, you.”
She raised her chin once again, her hands together in her lap. “When I was there, it was only survival. My entire focus was on finding a way out of that place. But now that I’m here, it’s somehow worse. Instead of looking to the future, all I can think about is the past. I wish I were like Claire…just getting back to normal like nothing happened.”
Her long hair was in a loose bun at the back of her head, her jawline sharp, her neck elegant and long. When the fire wasn’t in her eyes, it was just a deep chasm of darkness. Eternal. “It’s normal.”
“What’s normal?” she whispered.
“PTSD.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, giving a knowing stare.
“It’ll get better.”
Her eyes held mine, and eventually, she gave a slight nod.
“You have my full protection—always.” She was the only person who had my undying loyalty. Bartholomew used to be that person, but that connection went to shit when I walked away. There was no shadow behind me anymore. He didn’t have a knife in the back of the person that had a knife in my back.
That seemed to give her comfort because the tightness of her body released with her next breath. “I know you can’t stay here forever. I’ll just have to get used to it.”
“You will.” I pulled out the phone from my pocket and set it on the end table between us. “Text me if you need to talk. If it’s an emergency, call. I’ll take your call regardless of what I’m doing, so don’t cry wolf.” I got to my feet and walked past her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Instead of reaching for the phone, she grabbed the scotch. She filled a glass, brought it to her lips, and drank it as she stared at the fire.
My eyes lingered on the side of her face for a moment, watching her nurse her fears the way I’d nursed my sorrow every night Claire was gone.
The Catacombs flickered with light from the torches, casting shadows in the empty eye sockets of the dead that lined the halls. Drafts came and went, moving through the cracks, making the light flicker for just an instant.
When I made it to the Great Hall, all eyes were on me.
Gill stared with empty eyes. Barter masked his frown with a drink of his beer. Men I used to know looked at me as if I didn’t belong there, as if I had something to prove, as if I had to jump higher than I ever had before if I had any chance of making up for what I’d done.
I didn’t belong here anymore.
My place was at home with Claire, being a decent and honest man, someone she would be proud of when she was old enough to look at me as a friend instead of just a father. But this was the price I had to pay.
Bartholomew was spread out on his throne, knees apart, military boots flat against the stone, one elbow propped on the armrest while his fingers dropped against the carved wood. Dark eyes stared into mine, watching me approach with indifference.
I stopped, the silence louder than it’d ever been.
Bartholomew stared.
I stared back.
He pushed himself to his feet, his eyes level with mine, his arms by his sides.
We used to be brothers. We used to be closer than I was to my own brother. The camaraderie, the trust, it was all gone now. Sometimes it pained me. I’d had to choose between him and Claire—and I still didn’t regret that decision.
