Right. He wouldn’t have known who or what I was if he hadn’t felt me when I was born. He’d told me he’d been watching me ever since then, told memystories of how many times I’d dared death as a child. I’d laughed then, because hearing it from his point of view had been strangely funny.
He had only started paying real attention to me andnoticingme when I had my first boyfriend, like he’d said, and it surprised me thatI never noticed him watching or following me. I’d tried to rummage through my head for moments when I felt like I was being watched, but I came up empty.
I asked him another question. “Have you ever seen what The Crater looks like?”
“No.”
“Have you ever tried to go near it?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I stopped keeping count.” His palm brushed absently over the scar on his chest, a small frown furrowing his brow. “But more than sixty.”
My head shot forward. “And you’ve never gotten close? Not even once?”
“There’s a point I always reach and stop. I’ve never been able to cross it.” One finger traced the scar, something I found myself doing sometimes when we were in bed. “When I try, the cold sinks into me here and freezes me from the inside.”
I stared at him, eyes wide, trying to imagine how severe the cold could get. “That’s crazy. I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice soft because I didn’t know what else to say.
Like the crier I was, I’d nearly shed tears the night I asked him if he’d ever tried to kill himself. He’d told me he’d attempted it more times than he could count. I’d pressed and forced him to list the ways, even though I knew I couldn’t handle it, and eventually, with his groggy after-sex voice, he’d listed them against his will, from mild to catastrophic, including putting himself in the path of an explosion. But the curse had mended him every time, knitting his skin back without a scar.
I sure as fuck didn’t handle that well.
“If you’re sorry,” he said now, tapping the space beside him with his fingers, “then come back to bed with me.”
I bit back a smile. “I need to get to the library. The internet is full of shit. The twins are the only ones who have the original first edition of the thesis topic we picked yesterday. I need to see if it’s worth it before we move on.”
“Those kids,” he muttered.
My brows rose as I stepped closer to the bed frame. “You know them? Like knowknow?” I adjusted my blouse as my phone buzzed on the table, swallowing before opening my mouth to tell him the things those two had done behind his back. “Actually, I didn’t tell you. They’re—”
“I know.” His voice cut through mine. “They’ve been following me for a while.”
My jaw dropped. He knew. Of course he knew. He was a stalker. A stalker and an immortal. Of course he’d notice if someone was sniffing at his back.
“Then why have you kept quiet and been pretending you don’t know them?” I asked, walking to the table to pick my phone.
He shrugged. “There’s no point. They’re actually pretty smart.”
You wouldn’t believe it, Thrax. You wouldn’t.
I swallowed the truth about what they’d done and what they planned, not ready to shatter the fragile peace we’d built with Amelia’s wicked intentions. Shifting that discussion to later, I focused on the text my mother sent.
Mother
How do I look?
On my screen was a full-body mirror picture. She was in a green dress, brown hair pulled into a tight bun, neck and wrist gleaming with a necklace, bracelet, and watch.
Me
You always look beautiful, Mother.
But this…you’re going to sweep the ground from
under people’s feet in that dress and heels.
