He grabs one of the syringes, flicks off the cap, and jams it into his thigh. “Vok,” he groans, letting his head fall back as the automatic plunger releases the drug into his system.
I raise my brows. “I was going to ask if those might interfere with your ability to fly, but I guess we’ll just, uh … worry about that later.”
A whisper of our connection flits through the back of my mind before quickly disappearing again.
With a sigh, I stand from my crouched position and ask, “Why can’t I feel you anymore? Are you blocking me out?”
He makes a pained grunt and looks at the display that’s showing an image of what I assume is outside. It’s just a wall of orange that shifts as gusts of wind shake the ship beneath our feet.
The bridge is simple. An oval-shaped room, two bucket seats, a display that curves along the forward bulkhead, and a control panel that spans the length of the display. The control panel looks like a long piece of glass, but when Vexar touches it, symbols appear. And then there’s Vexar, leaned back in the port-side bucket seat, covered in the evidence of the war he just fought for us. It’s clear his mind is no less affected than his body, and my heart breaks for him. Today was a complete shit-show. Our plan might have gotten us out alive, but in the process, everything else seemed to fall apart.
I rub the back of my arm over my eyes, abrading my skin with the grit that covers my entire body. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say.
“Come here, please,” Vexar whispers. His hand wraps around the back of my thigh, tugging me closer as he appraises me with a distant longing, like I’m a million miles away and never comingback.
“I’m right here,” I whisper.
He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t fully believe it.
“Don’t we need to get out of here?” I ask.
“We have time.”
With that, I place my hands on the sides of his neck and climb onto his lap, hoping the closeness will help ease some of his anguish. It feels a bit odd at first, like I’m sitting in the lap of a stranger, but the feeling fades the moment his hands find my hips. It’s hard to remember how new this is, especially when it feels like I’ve always known him.
“Talk to me, please,” I say, pushing the sweat-soaked hair from his face.
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes shift uncomfortably. “I did not want to do it,” he whispers. “That manta was innocent… It did not know why it was there, or what it was meant to do. It was just an animal.” He closes his eyes. “And I butchered it.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
In a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he asks, “Do you think I am a monster?”
My eyes close as I try to hold back the sadness his question brings before I shake my head and say, “No. Never.”
“You saw what I did to the Skugga.”
I blow out a breath and rest my forehead against his, right between his horns. “Do you want an honest answer, or a nice one?”
“Honest.”
“What happened with the Skugga was … bad—maybe the most savage thing I’ve ever seen. But it wasn’t evil. And it doesn’t mean you’re a monster.” His eyes lock on mine, green instead of black, as I stroke the sides of his face. “I’ve seen monsters.Realmonsters.” Memories from my past push forward, but I fight them back, trying to stay present. “You are nothing like them. Nothing.” My voice cracks, but I keepgoing.
“What you did today was motivated by love, not hate or fear or greed.You did it because you had no other choice. Because this was the only way to help a lot of people whoneedyour help.” People like Roveen and those women from the bath. “Real monsters commit atrocities for personal gain, or out of fear, or because they don’t believe other people have value unless those people are useful to them. You are the furthest thing from a monster, Vexar.”
He’s silent for a long moment before saying, “But Iwantedthe violence. Icravedit.”
“Why?” I ask. His brow furrows and he shifts uncomfortably, not understanding what I’m asking. “Why did you crave the violence? Was it because you hated those other gladiators, or was it because you”—I take a steadying breath—“was it because you wanted to protect me?”
His eyes say a thousand words in a single second. There’s a deep sadness there, but also a heavy truth that scares me a little. A truth that he would do more to protect me than he’s willing to admit.
I press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “If there’s one thing I know to be true, it’s that the violence we’re capable of in the name of love is so much greater than the violence born of hate.”
“So you do not fear me?” he whispers.
“No,” I answer, “the only way you could make me fear you is by denying me your honesty.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he notices my choice of words. Then I add, “So please, don’t hide from me. Don’t shut me out.”
“That is all you need? Honesty?” he asks.
