“I couldn’t do it anymore,” I whisper against the fabric of her dress. “Watching you die over and over again. Being born with the memories of us. Every moment we shared. Every time I held you while you died.” My voice cracks. “I thought if I stayed away from you in this life, you would survive.”
Silence. Just Daciana’s ragged breathing and the hammering of my own heart.
Then, her voice, so small it nearly destroys me: “So, all this time, I’ve been a substitute for your first love.”
My head snaps up. “No!”
She flinches at my vehemence, and I gentle my tone even as panic claws at me.
“No, Daciana. You are a different person every time. Different name, different face, different life. I am the only one who stays the same. The only one cursed to remember.”
“Last night…” Her voice shakes. “Who did you sleep with? Elara or me?”
The question cuts straight through me.
“You.” I reach up, cupping her face in my hands before I can stop myself. Her skin is so soft, so warm. “You, Daciana. When I looked at you, when I touched you—it was you. Only you.”
She stares at me, searching my face for lies. I let her look. Let her see everything I feel, written across my features.
“I need time,” she finally whispers. “To understand. To figure this out.”
“You can take all the time you need.” The words hurt to say, but I mean them. “But if you think you’re pregnant, you have to tell me.”
Her hand flies to her stomach protectively, instinctively. “Why?”
“If you’re pregnant, we have four months.” I swallow hard, pushing myself to continue. “In each life, you’ve died in your fourth month of pregnancy. The pattern never varies.”
She goes pale, her fingers splaying across her stomach now. “Why is this happening? Why are we tied to each other like this?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m looking into it. I think…” I hesitate, then push ahead. “I think we were cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“It’s complicated, and I’ve only just found out myself. I’m still gathering information.” I keep my voice steady, trying to anchor her when everything is falling apart. “The gypsy witches—I’ve sent for them. They may have answers.”
She wraps her arms around her stomach, curling inward. The gesture guts me.
“What does this mean for us?” Her hand suddenly goes to her neck, fingers pressing against the skin there. “There’s no mating mark. But you said the bond was mature.”
“Even without the mating mark, we’re as good as mated since we’ve marked each other so many times across lifetimes.” I rush the words out. “However, the mark is important. And I will not give it to you.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“Daciana, I just want you to have one life in which you’re happy. That’s all I want.” My throat tightens, but I keep going. “I’m willing to watch your happiness from a distance. But I won’t”—I pause—“I won’t watch you die again.”
“I need time,” she repeats, her voice stronger now but still brittle.
“I understand.”
“I will not be acting as your liaison for a while.” She won’t meet my eyes. “I need space from you.”
Each word is a blade to my heart, but I nod. “Of course.”
I make myself get to my feet. Make my hands release the armrests. Make my legs carry me toward the door. Even though everything in me is screaming to stay, to hold her, never to let go.
My hand closes around the door handle.
“Kieran.”
