I turn around and glare at Zarreth. His hands are still smoking. “I had it under control,” I snap as my eyes roam over his body. Damn him and his refusal to wear shirts. I understand why he doesn't, with his wings and all, but still.
His stupid biceps flex when he runs his fingers through his thick hair. Why do his jeans have to sit so low on his hips? My eyes follow the deep V leading to his…Oh my God, what am I doing? I quickly look away, not wanting him to sense how attracted I am to him at this moment. But, when he takes a deep inhale and his eyes flicker black, I realize it’s too late. How can I expect him to hold back when he smells how turned on I am every time we’re close to one another?
The cocky grin on his face isn’t helping matters when he strolls over and offers me a hand. “I know you did, little mate.I just thought I’d help.”
“I don’t remember asking for your help.” I step around him and head for the house. I know I’m being a jerk, but I wanted to start the fire the way my brother taught me. I don’t need Zarreth to save the day because his little broken mate can’t do anything for herself.
Jess and Ronin share a look, probably wondering how long it will take before I lose it again. “I’m sorry, guys. I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder. I need a few minutes to collect myself so I don’t get emotional and hurt someone.
“Don’t apologize. I’ll have a s’more ready for you when you get back.” Jess’ voice trails after me. “I’ll even burn the marshmallow how you like.”
Guilt gnaws at me for being so short with my friends. They shouldn't have to navigate a minefield when they’re around me just because I can’tcontrol my emotions. But they’re getting harder to push down. The darkness is constantly lurking under my skin, searching for a way out. Especially tonight. Nate loved sitting around bonfires with a Busch Light in his hand, listening to Waylon Jennings. He should be the one here, not me.
The house feels heavier somehow when I walk through the door and head straight to his bedroom…I can't believe he’s gone. Sitting on his bed, I rub my thumb over the small tire swing tattoo on my wrist. Whoever saidtime heals all woundswas a fucking idiot. Time hasn’t healed shit. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn’t. I’m tired. I’m sotired.
Reaching in my pocket, I grab Nate’s knife, turning it over in my hands. I know I shouldn't cut myself. I know there are better ways to deal with grief, but what am I supposed to do? Tell a therapist my brother was killed by a demon in a different realm while I was forced to turn humans into hellhound shifters? Even if I lied about what happened, there’s no way I’m strong enough to talk about my feelings and keep the darkness locked away. Keeping it all in is the safest choice for everyone around me.
Ronin’s face flashes through my mind. He wasn’t trying to piss me off that day, not really. It was just his way of getting me to break, to stop swallowing everything down until it ate me alive. He kept teasing, calling me weak, poking every bruise inside me until I finally just…snapped.
And it worked. I hit him again and again until I was shaking, sobbing into his shirt. And he just held me. I was so lost in my sorrow, lost in memories of Nate, that I didn’t notice I was killing him until I pulled away.
His face had gone white. I saw it. But he smothered the horror under that ridiculous ego of his, wiping blood from his nose and eyes like it was nothing.
“Get that look off your face,” he said. “A puny halfling couldn’t hurt me.”
But the color drained from him as my darkness pulled at his life. Jess would’ve died. Hell, Ronin could’ve died if he wasn’t centuries old.
I promised myself that I’d never fall apart like that again. They mean too much to me, and I can’t trust myself anymore. But it hurts. My chest is always tight. My throat is clogged with words I can barely get out. Food makes me nauseous. And every step feels heavier, like something is dragging me down.
I needed something to drown out the hurt. I couldn’t hold the grief any longer, so I crawled into Nate's room and let our song play on repeat.Three Little Birdsby Bob Marley. That’s when I saw the pocketknife sitting on his dresser. The one I gave him for his birthday when we were kids.
Our mom always forgot—too strung out or too busy getting knocked around to remember anything like that. But Nate and I didn’t care. We had each other. We’d wrap gifts in old newspaper, digging through the neighbor’s trash for toys their kids tossed. You wouldn’t believe what people throw away when they’ve never had to worry about their next meal.
It was two days before Nate’s birthday, and all I had was a broken Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine. He would’ve liked it, even with the missing leg, but turning thirteen was special. I wanted to give him something that felt grown up, not another toy.
He hated when I wandered around alone, so I snuck out while he slept. It took hours, digging through trash cans and old boxes, but I finally found it: a small, red pocketknife with a nail file and tiny scissors tucked beside the blade. I was so proud when his face lit up. He carried it with him every day after that, right up until he went missing.
The first time I opened the blade I was desperate. I craved anything that would drown the ache in my chest. So, I slid my finger along the edge, surprised at how sharp it still was. Sharp enough to split my skin. It stung. My finger throbbed. But that little rush of adrenaline? It yanked my focus away from what really mattered. I loved it. I’ve had it on me ever since.
I need to make this quick before someone comes looking for me. I suck in a breath, preparing for the sting, and pull my bottom lip down. Wincing, I drag the blade over the soft, delicate flesh. It fucking hurts, but the copper taste is just enough to help me breathe. My head falls against the wall. Is this what an addict feels like?
The knock at the door makes me jump. Shit! I shove the blade in my pocket. My fingers skim my lips, checking for blood. I take three slow breaths to pull myself together. “Come in.”
Jess steps in with a soft look in her eyes. How am I supposed to be strong when she looks at me like that? I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stop the sting. Don’t cry.
She sits on the bed and pulls me in without a word. I try stopping it, but the sob slips out anyway. God, it feels good. Her arms tighten as she slowly rocks us. Another sob breaks free, louder this time. I haven’t cried in so long. Maybe I can let go. Just a little. Just one more sob. And then it breaks. Tears flood my eyes and I’m full-on bawling before I can stop it.
“Um, Frankie,” Jess pulls back. Her eyes are wet and bloodshot, but it’s not from her tears. Tears aren’t red.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” I scurry to the other side of the room, pressing my back against the door. I can’t believe I did that! I know better than to drop my guard. What the hell is wrong with me?
“It’s okay. I promise I’m fine.” She wipes her eyes, leaving a drop of blood on her flannel. Hopping off the bed, she spins around, proving she’snot hurt. By the time she faces me again, her eyes are back to normal, but we both know what happened.
“No, It’s not fine! I could’ve killed you.” My voice cracks. If I truly want to protect my friend, I need to push her away. I’m no good for her. I grip the doorknob, ready to leave.
“Please don’t go,” she begs. “Stay with me.” I know it kills her not being able to comfort me. She’s always been my rock, the one I lean on when I can’t stand on my own. But I can’t let her be that anymore. It’s too dangerous.
“I could’ve killed you,” I repeat because there is no better argument than that. I win, end of subject.
