My chest tightens so sharply it hurts.
Because I believe it.
And it feels like the most dangerous truth of all.
Unfortunately, I’ve spoken words to hide lies since we awakened.
Although it is true, my words feel traitorous as I reply, “I’m in love with you, too, Gustav. You know I am.”
Chapter 39
Peighton
If I had my way, I would never leave our bed again.
The hallways of St. Andrews feel colder after a morning like that. Every step away from Gustav is a step back into some lesser life.
My body still hums, my pussy sore in a way that makes heat flutter low in my belly. Every shift of my hips reminds me how deep he was, how anger soon after, how rough his breathing got when he confessed he loved me. I’m jogging halfway down the corridor before I realize I am smiling like an lovestruck idiot.
Focus, Peighton.
I’m already late.
Micha jogs beside me. My boots thump too loud against the old floor, the sound bouncing off walls lined with framed photographs of dead men who once ruled this world.
I clutch my notebook tighter and quicken my pace, the knot of my ponytail swaying. Ugh. I’m still wearing a dumb toothy smile.
Underneath my glow, though, sits a restless worry.
I hate being away from him. It feels wrong now, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He went for a walk. I know how fast his mind can shift. Spirals can happen in seconds. I saw it in the kitchen. I saw it when he pressed a knife to my throat. I saw it when the Council watched him twitch and whisper to no one.
And I still left him for class.
Maybe that makes me stupid. Maybe it makes me normal. I am unsure which frightens me more.
I push into the self-defense room just as the instructor claps his hands to call everyone to the mat. I slip off my boots, bow quickly, and fall in line with the others, lungs still catching up.
A couple of the other women nod at me. One of them smirks, clearly recognizing the glow on my face.
They know my madman is on the grounds.
In my bed.
The instructor begins class, but...
The space beside me is empty.
I scan the room. No man with kind dark eyes and dimples. No beard. No teasing half smile apologizing for pinning me to mats in front of a room full of women. Just absence.
My stomach dips.
“Where’s Brutus?” I ask, cutting across the instructor’s directions before I can stop myself.
He hesitates, then glances at me with something almost like pity.
“He will not be joining us today.”
“So he’s sick?” I push, clinging to the easiest explanation.
