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“No,” he answered. “Should I be?”
I shook my head, not even wanting to know what he would pick up off me. I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling. “I’ve killed.”
Ash said nothing, but I felt his stare on me.
“Mostly men. Not good ones.” The words were rough against my throat. “Abusers. Users. Rapists. Murderers. I never set out to do it. Like I didn’t wake up one day and decide to take someone’s life. I helped my stepsister retrieve endangered children, and it would just…happen. Or sometimes my mother—”
“Your mother?” Those two words fell like icy rain between us.
I nodded. “She used me to send messages—the kind that wouldn’t be considered an act of the Crown.” I knew there was no reason to share any of this. I doubted it would help me, but it felt like a seal had been cracked open deep inside me, letting out words I’d never given life before. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have control of myself. I did. I know that I sometimes let it escalate to the point where I convinced myself it was necessary.” I thought of Nor. “That it was self-defense. But to be honest, I wanted to end them. To hand out justice.” A curl fell forward, lying against my cheek as I shrugged again. “The funny thing is, I wondered if you knew. Did you?”
“I didn’t,” he told me, and I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Being the Primal of Death doesn’t mean I know who takes a life and doesn’t when they are alive. It doesn’t work that way.”
I nodded slowly. “Sometimes I wonder if something in me enabled me to do it. You know? Because not everyone can. My stepsister wouldn’t be able to. I don’t even think my mother could. And I wonder if that is because of the deal—how I was brought up. Or is there just something wrong with me that is all me—this ability to shut off my emotions and coldly take a life? Was it always in me?”
“What do you mean by how you were brought up?”
“Being trained to defend myself,” I answered smoothly because that wasn’t necessarily a lie. But it was a warning that I could be revealing too much. Still, more words rushed to the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t even blame whiskey for it this time. “I don’t know if I ever felt those marks you spoke of. Sometimes, I think I did, but then I would make myself not think about what I’d done. And it was easy to do that. Maybe too easy. I felt like…I felt a little like a monster.”
The tips of his fingers grazed my cheek, sending a jolt of energy across my skin. Surprised, I lifted my chin as he gathered the curls, tucking them behind my ear. “You’re not a monster.”
Gods, if he only knew. “I’ve done some monstrous things that I…that I would do again.” That I will still do. “Look at what I did to Tavius.”
“That bastard deserved it.” His eyes brightened. “And when his soul comes out of the pits, I will personally do far worse to him.”
The surge of satisfaction I felt upon hearing that was probably another good indication that something was wrong with me. “What do you mean the pits?”
“The Pits of Endless Flames,” he explained. “I made sure his soul was immediately sent there. He burns until I free him.”
Oh.
Damn.
“But those monstrous things most likely saved the others’ lives,” he said, and my breath caught. Sir Holland had once said something similar after the first time my mother had me send a message.
I wanted to ask how he would judge my soul, but I figured that was something I was better off not knowing.
His fingers trailed down the curve of my cheek. “I know one thing, liessa. A monster wouldn’t care if they were one.”
I felt another snag in my breath. I’d never considered that before, and that cut through me. I wasn’t even sure why, or why I hadn’t thought of it because it was a simple enough idea. But I hadn’t, and it wasn’t like his words erased the deeds I’d committed. Ash was right. Mostly. His words, though, they chased away a little of the darkness that always lingered at the back of my thoughts. And when I drew in a breath, it felt as if it were the first deep one I’d taken in a long time. I wanted to thank him for that.
Without much thought or motivation, I let go of the blanket and moved, erasing the small distance between our mouths. I kissed him, and his lips parted immediately, letting me in. He tasted of smoky whiskey and the coldest hour of night. I felt him tremble as I placed a hand on his chest. I moved again, sliding my hands to his shoulders and climbing into his lap. The feel of his skin through the thin night rail was an icy-hot shock to my senses. He shuddered as he delved his hand into my hair. I leaned into him, guiding him so he was on his back. The Primal of Death went without hesitation, without question. I kissed him, letting myself get a little lost in the feel of his lips, the flavor of his mouth, and the press of the thick hardness against my belly, letting myself enjoy all the sensations. To just exist in how carefully he wove his fingers through my curls, the soft touch of his hand against my back, and the deep groan he let loose when I lifted my mouth from his. To just live in that sudden breath he took when I kissed his scar and then the skin under his chin.
