“You can,” Griffin says, holding me fast.
I clamp my eyes shut and shake my head.
“I’m sorry.” Griffin pulls me close. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
I shudder against him, leaning in, and his hand curves around the back of my head.
“Shhh. Nothing will happen to our baby. I swear it.”
“Don’t make…promises…you can’t…keep,” I gasp out against his chest.
“I swear it,” he repeats, gripping me firmly.
I shake my head again. For the first time ever, I don’t believe him, even though no lie burns through me. I can’t, and not even the sternness in his voice, the strength of his embrace, or the solidity of his body will make me.
But his steadfastness and gentle hands do eventually help me to stop shaking and to breathe again. Griffin breathes with me, cradling my head and stroking my back. The sharp, wild panic from before starts to recede, leaving me raw and aching and oddly detached.
Or maybe not detached. Maybe this is just the other side of the overwhelming dread, the side where I can finally think and function again. It feels as though I’ve run through an entire night, scared and hurting, but then dawn broke and gave me a second wind. Daylight and Griffin don’t quell all my fears, but they help, just like they always have.
He holds me, and I hold him back. We stay like that for a long time, quiet.
“I’m tired,” I eventually say, the horrors of the day catching up with me, physically and emotionally.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I know.”
“You don’t have to know everything,” I mutter.
He pulls away enough to look at me. “I don’t know everything, but I know what this is. I’ve seen it happen, even to the best, most seasoned warriors. Sometimes there’s an obvious reason for it, and sometimes it’s just a scent or a sound, but it triggers something that no one can control. Panic does awful things to the mind and body, Cat. You’re strong, but you’re still human. The future is scaring the magic out of you—possibly literally. And Little Bean is a huge change—for you,inyou—and you love her so much already that it’s paralyzing you.”
Paralyzing me. I can’t protect anyone that way, or even live long enough for Little Bean to take her first breath.
Griffin gently clasps my face in his hands. “You’re constantly fighting yourself. You’re your own worst enemy, Cat. You have to refocus.”
I’m pretty sure Mother is my worst enemy, but… “Refocus?” I ask.
“You don’t fight her like you fight any other threat. You need to stop thinking of her as your mother. She’s never been that. She’s been your adversary since the day you were born. Fight her like you did Galen Tarva, your brothers, or the other teams in the Agon Games. You give everyone their chance at mercy. If they opt out, they get crushed.Crushher, Cat. Crush her for both of us. For all three of us,” he says, “and for whatever else our future holds.”
His words conjure an image of a whole castle full of little dark heads. Home. Family. I want that. I want it so much it hurts.
I tuck the vision away, keeping it safe for now. “But how? My lightning doesn’t work, at least not consistently, and Mother seems to know every trick I don’t.”
“You’re stronger than she is. Inside and out.”
“But I hesitate with her when I don’t with anyone else, and I can’t seem to stop.” Theone more chancesyndrome I’ve developed where Mother is concerned is going to get me killed—get all of us killed—if I don’t find a cure for it soon.
“You also have something she’ll never have—me, Little Bean, our friends and family. Reasons tolive.”
Those heartwarming reasons bring a sudden prick of tears to my eyes. Stepping back from him, I smile a little wryly. “When did you get so wise?”
Griffin looks down at me, his face perfectly serious. “The day I decided you were the most important thing in my life, and always will be.”
I huff a small breath. “Very smooth.”Okay, I’m thrilled.
He winks. “I know.”
