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“Ourlives?” My skin prickles with goosebumps as though someone has just walked over my grave.
“Yes. Her choice to leave with you that night saved your lives, and now your choice to let her go with them,” Christy says, looking pointedly at Connall, “Will save hers.”
PARTII
CURES
“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.”
The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde.
18
Cyn
The salty, seaweed scent of the ocean trickles through the tiny cracks around the window frame as cool air feathers over my skin, drawing me awake with its tentative touch.
I blink at the bright light that pours through a gap in the curtains as tiny motes of dust lift up in the air, sensing other people in the room about the same time as I do. My gaze is drawn to Arden, Lorcan and Carrick who are sitting around the open fire on the other side of the room, its flames crackling in the hearth.
“According to Beast the O’Briens are getting restless,” Arden says, a dangerous edge to his voice. “They want to see Cyn.”
“It’s only been a week. She’s slept most of that time. Been barely lucid the rest of it,” Carrick replies, swiping a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “She’s not ready.”
A week?I have no recollection of any of that time passing. None.
But I do remember why I’m here and a sudden, overwhelming sadness pulls at my senses, threatening to drag me back under a deep sea of oblivion.
Faith is dead.
Her baby is gone.
And I’m crushed by the pain of it.
A huge part of me wants to fall back into the arms of darkness. It’s safer there. Quiet. There’s no pain, no memories, just a vast expanse devoid of colour. It’s peaceful too, like a gently lapping ocean under a midnight sky.
Yet their voices keep me in the present.
Anchoring me for the time being.
And for the first time in a long while, I don’t allow the ever present tide of my grief to draw me back into the ocean’s embrace. I tread water just enough to keep listening.
“She just needs time,” Lorcan says. “Weneed time.”
“And what about Niall?” Carrick bites out.
My father…If I could laugh bitterly, I would. We haven’t talked in almost two years. Not since I went to live with The Masks. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.
“So far nothing,” Arden says. “I’m not sure if it’s because he never really gave a shit about Cyn, or if it’s because he’s waiting for the right time to act.”
“How can he not love her?” Lorcan asks angrily. “Why can’t that fucking arsehole see how incredible she is? I don’t get it.”
“I’ve no idea, but the O’Briens are different. They’ll come for her eventually,” Arden replies, swiping a hand through his hair. “Beast won’t be able to hold them off forever.”
"And we'll be ready when they do." Carrick stands, pushing back his chair roughly. "They can't fucking have her."
He moves to leave, but Lorcan grasps his wrist. "Brother, they won't take her if she doesn't want to leave. We just need to get her better and give her enough of a reason to stay."
Carrick nods tightly, flicking his gaze over in my direction, I keep my gaze fixed on him as he cocks his head and frowns.
