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“No,” she snapped, trembling as I moved to stand before her, looming over her so she couldn’t escape.
“I let her die, Red,” I said, deciding on a new tactic, and a sliver of my own grief and guilt. “Not you.Ifailed you. I broke our bargain and you lost her.”
“No,” she croaked, flinching. We both knew it was the truth, and I needed Elara to forgive me as much as I needed her to forgive herself if we were going to move past this. All the same, I hated myself a bit for what I was doing.
“I’m at fault, Elara,” I pressed, gripping her face in my hands and giving her a tiny shake. “Punish me.”
“No!” she roared, trembling with rage as fire erupted in a ring around us, a blazing column of flame that swirled and burned and singed my hair and throat.
“There you are,” I said, still clasping her face and kissing her soundly as relief poured through me. Rage could be molded, honed. Rage could banish that bottomless pit of despair and guilt. I could work with rage. She whimpered, the fire dying as she lost her focus, and I broke away to gaze down at her, feeling awe and pride. “My love.”
“Why?” she croaked. I knew she was asking why I had pushed her. Why I wanted her to channel her fire. Why…why I had failed her.
I pushed the last thought away and smirked down at her, giving her truth and love and a solemn, deadly promise with my next words.
“Because, my love,” I purred. “You and I are going to burn your grandmother and her miserable Coven to the ground.”
