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“Then don’t. Think about yourself. I promise you’re still the same. You still snore a little in your sleep, you—”
“I donot!”
“You do. I think I’d know better than you would.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
He ignores me. “You still have the same goals in life. You’re still passionate about history and human nature. You still text your parents nearly every day so they don’t worry about you.”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest. I didn’t realize he was paying attention to me this closely.
“Maybe you’re a little tougher, maybe you’re more cautious of others. But you still like the same things, and you still feel like Athelia Harper to me.”
We reach Kellan’s bike, and he zips up my jacket before pulling me in for a soft, chaste kiss. His body is warm against mine, and I wrap my arms around his torso and lean my head against his chest.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
His arms encircle me, bringing with them a sense of comfort I never expected to feel from Kellan Ambrose. “Whatever you need,ma belle.Whatever you need.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Cal
“Kammes made her dye her hair brown.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid when Kellan says that. He and Athelia made it back an hour ago. They were both covered in mud, and Athelia’s makeup was ruined, so I have an idea of what type ofdistractionKellan gave her.
While they were both showering, Wes came home. Athelia went straight to bed without even coming downstairs, and he seems frustrated that he hasn’t had a chance to see her since the funeral.
Now, at Kellan’s words, Wes’s frustration is replaced with a sharp anger that burns bright in his eyes.“What?”
“He’s the reason she stopped dying it green,” Kellan says. “She told me that tonight.”
“How does he keep getting worse from the damn grave?” Wes grits out.
I stare into the flames in the fireplace. While Kellan and Athelia were out, I was restless, so I started a fire to give myself something to do.
“I always thought she just got sick of the green or something,” I mumble.
“Apparently not.” Kellan grimaces. “I feel really bad.”
It’s not enough.Over the past two weeks, that phrase has been circling around in my brain constantly. After all the pain we’ve caused Athelia, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to fully make it up to her. She’s been happier around us lately, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s no way she’s forgiven us.
Wes glowers at the floor. “I wish I could resurrect him, just so I could kill him again.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Kellan says.
“That’s not true.” Wes looks up. “We can show her we’re the exact opposite of that monster—that we support her and want her to dye her hair whatever color she damn well wants to.”
“How?” I ask.
“We’ll set up an appointment for her at a salon or whatever,” Wes says. “Maybe we can ask Haven what stylist Athelia usually goes to.”
Kellan shakes his head. “Except Haven is still dealing with family shit or whatever. She’s texting Athelia occasionally, but not often.”
Wes narrows his eyes. “That’s an obstacle we can work our way around. Whose room is Athelia in tonight?”
“Mine,” Kellan says.
