“You deserve it.”
That flush remained in her cheeks as she busied herself with loosening the tension in the bow before putting everything away. Her movements were careful and practiced, her touch so soft it was nearly reverent.
He wandered closer. “That song you just played . . . did you write it?”
She glanced up at him. “No. It’s just a piece I memorized a long time ago.”
Beautiful as it had been, he hated that she’d played such a sad, tormented song often enough to memorize it.
“Is that how you feel?” he asked quietly.
She glanced up at him, her hands resting against the closed lid of the case. “Sometimes.”
He swallowed hard. “It was . . .”Heartbreaking.
Her mouth pressed into a line. “I was thinking of Jayveh and Argent. That’s what her grief feels like.”
He couldn’t imagine what that must be like, to feel another’s grief so completely. Feeling his own loss was agonizing enough.
“I was also thinking about you.”
Her soft words were a physical blow. His lungs locked. “I make you feel that way?” Her song had been beyond sorrow.Devastatedcame closer to what he’d just heard from her. The thought that he caused her to feel that way gutted him.
Her expression gentled, though her sea green eyes remained turbulent. “No, not at all.” She rose, straightening to stand before him. “I know how lost you feel sometimes. How desperate you are to protect me and everyone else around you. I know you’re exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Sometimes, you’re glad you can’t, and I think that’s because you don’t want to fall into another nightmare.” Her lips pursed. “I know how dark your nightmares are. I know you don’t want anyone to know just how many demons haunt you. And I know how much guilt you carry, especially for Argent. How much it tortures you.”
Carver stared at her, his heart pounding. His mouth was dry, his palms slick. She’d just laid bare nearly every one of his vulnerabilities.
Amryn met his gaze, and he swore he saw her own vulnerability shining back. “I know there are things you never want me to know. About Harvari . . .” Her throat flexed as she swallowed. “I just wish I knew how to help you.”
Carver’s breathing had thinned. “I can’t talk about that.” Any of it.
Amryn’s expression closed off, but not before he saw a flicker of hurt.
He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I'm sorry," he murmured. "Please understand . . .” He couldn’t talk about it. Couldn’t bear to think about telling her, of all people, what he had suffered. How he’d broken.
“I understand,” she whispered.
He didn’t think she did. But when she tugged her hand away from his, he let her go.
Amryn’s scream ripped Carver from sleep.
He was already reaching for the blade he kept on the bedside table, his eyes blinking into the darkness of their room. Moonlight filtered in through the balcony door.
Theopenbalcony door.
A shadow stood at the foot of their bed.
Carver cursed and shoved up, one hand clenched around his knife, the other jerking the blankets aside so he could free his legs.
The shadow rushed forward.
Amryn cried out a warning. Carver’s foot caught in the tangled sheet. He bit out a curse as the attacker lunged, knife raised. Rolling to his knees, Carver lifted his own dagger. The blades clashed. The jolt traveled up Carver’s tensed arm, but he was already striking out with his free fist, burying it in the man’s gut. The assassin grunted and fell back.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Amryn shift. “Stay back!” he barked, his terror all for her in that moment.
She scrambled backwards until her spine hit the headboard.
The assassin’s blade flashed again. Carver parried the blow, this time with enough force the assassin stumbled. Carver finally kicked free of the clinging sheet and leaped off the bed, taking a defensive stance beside it. He was sure to keep his body between the attacker and Amryn, braced for the man’s next attack.
