"No," the word comes out pained, her deep well of empathy opening up and swallowing me whole.
"I was still just a cocky little fuck back then. Arrogant and full of fury. So I tracked them to their hideout before they could come find me."
"How did you track them?"The smell of Evelyn's blood on Arthur's skin and clothes.
Instead of giving her that answer, I tap on my nose, hoping she'll fill in the blanks enough. "I thought I was invincible. That, paired with the righteous vengeance pumping through my body, made me averydangerous, reckless creature.
"I slaughtered every man in their camp. Tore their limbs off, shredded their internal organs while their hearts continued to beat, ripped through their throats with my teeth. Every manor of violent death you think I might be capable of, double the depravity, and you'll have a picture of what I looked like while I massacred their battalion."
"And Arthur?" she asks the question. The point of this whole fucking thing.What happened to Arthur?
"I felt them cleave his soul from this earth before I could reach him," tears flow freely down my face as I picture the way I found him. A picture I wouldneversubject another to even hear about, much less see. "Their leader, the pretend salesman, locked away in this tower, watched the damage I did. He said I was too wild to be controlled, that me and my host needed to be put down for the safety of their cause. Then I tore his face from his skull and pinned it to the outside of his cabin with a knife."
Sniffles and small sobs draw my attention to Isla, trying so hard to keep quiet and not disrupt me. Her free hand covers her face, hiding her heartbreak.
"Hey," I try to pull her closer. Her tears are never what I'm after, and I hate that she's crying over something that happened so long ago.
"I'm so sorry," she tells me. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Just ignore me."
I drag her into my lap, needing her as close to me as physically possible, smoothing down her hair as we both silently let tears fall. I rest my cheek on her forehead, soaking in all the blissful things around me, not wanting to fall too far into the past when the present means so much to me.
A sorrowful silence surrounds us, and I realize just how badly I've needed another person to share this with me. Grief and sorrow are so heavy; they've been dragging me down for far too long. Having another person to help carry it, to willingly sit with me and hold it, is a blessing I never thought I'd be worthy of.
"Thank you," I tell her.
She looks up at me, red-rimmed eyes confused as mascaracontinues torun down her beautiful cheeks. "For what?"
I shrug because I don'treallyknow what I'm thanking her for. I want to thank her just for existing, for living during a time that I get to live and get to know her. But those kinds of platitudes will surely scare her away, so I give her the closest answer I can, "For listening. For caring, even though it happened over a century ago and has nothing to do with you."
Her lower lip wobbles, the emotion keeping her from saying anything else before she nuzzles back into my chest, clinging to me like she could squeeze all the pain out of my chest if she just held me tightly enough.
"Let's go to bed," I suggest, needing this night to end so we can start fresh tomorrow, safely on our way back home.
Her body freezesjust for a secondbefore she relaxes and nods, extracting herself from my hold. Without preamble, she throws her dress on the floor, climbing under the covers. I follow closely behind, wrapping myself around her, bathingmyselfin her scent to keep the nightmares at bay.
The exhaustion starts to take over, but I don't fall asleep until Isla asks one last question. One I know pained her, yet she needed the closure asbadlyas I didat the time.
"Did you at least get to bury him?"
A sad smile pulls at my lips. "At the farm with his parents. I couldn't let him spend eternity alone."
Benedici
Isla
I shouldn't be here.
Shouldn't be doing this.
But Alastor said hewas going tobe watching my friends to keep them safe, which means he's close.
I'm still riding the headache-inducing buzz of all the champagne earlier, but fortunatelyfor me, New York has a taxi every two fucking steps.
Sneaking out from underneath Eamon's nose was thedifficultpart, one that I knowI'm going topay for later.
Pretending to sleep for an hour, waiting for his breathing to ease into soft snores while fighting against sleep myself, was an absolute pain in the ass.
Once he was sound asleep, I eased my slippers on to keep the sounds of my steps to a minimum, carrying my sneakers with me until the hotel door clicked shut behind me.
