“That’s it.” He shifts his arm underneath me and rests his hand on my hip.
The echoes of what I saw slowly recede, like a tide pulling back from shore.Iron. Ink. Tears. Blood.
I play with the pendant Declan gave me, twisting it between my fingers. It hasn’t done that weird tugging thing around Declan since my arm was marked. Should I tell him about thevisions? Or will it just worry him more? Does he know that’s part of the curse? Does it happen to him too?
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says.
“Are you expecting a performance evaluation?” I tease. “A-plus. Gold medal. Two thumbs up. Five stars. And I don’t hand those out to just anyone.”
Wait. That sounded weird.
I frown, trying to think of something to say to fix it.
But Declan rumbles with laughter. “Five stars yourself, little crow.”
“I’m just catching my breath.” I tickle my fingers against his abs, then lower. “Those, um, piercings are, um, oxygen-stealing.”
I swear his cheeks flush. “Glad to hear it.”
Dampness trails down my thigh and I wriggle against him. “Although, I’m going to run over to the bathroom and clean up.”
His eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I?—”
“It’s fine. I told you.” I cough and sit up, staring at the open door into the dark hallway. “I can’t get pregnant.”
“Emery.” He reaches for me, fingers brushing my elbow, but I move closer to the edge of the bed.
“I…I normally don’t blurt that out or tell, well, anyone, but since we, since, you know…” I wave my hands in the air, flustered and ashamed. I turn to see his face—tight and intense. “My ex, um, he hinted he wanted to propose and well, I thought…it just never seems like a good time to share that but um, he took it hard and was pretty cruel about it. Accused me of…well, it doesn’t matter. I should’ve known it could be a deal-breaker. I just thought…never mind. It ended badly. I hate talking about it?—”
“Emery.” He stops my wild rambling with his warm, confident voice. “I think you’re perfect the way you are.”
One simple sentence. And from Declan, I believe he means every word.
“Thanks,” I mumble, hurrying to the bedroom door. Feeling exposed, vulnerable, and unbelievably stupid, I grab the first article of clothing I encounter—Declan’s T-shirt—and throw it on so fast, I get tangled in the sleeves. My elbow smacks into something hard and unforgiving. “Ow. Dammit,” I curse at the doorframe.
“Emery—”
“Be right back,” I call over my shoulder, finally wrestling the shirt into place and escaping the room without banging into anything else.
I hurry across the hallway and burst into the bathroom, safely closing the door behind me before the tears fall.
Dammit, I thought I was over this.
I take care of business, stop crying, and wash all sadness from my face with a blast of icy cold water, then check the mirror. Except for red-rimmed eyes, I don’t look like I’ve been crying.
After a few deep breaths, I open the door.
And find Declan waiting for me, arms folded across his bare chest. Apparently, he has no qualms about exposure. He didn’t bother with a stitch of clothing.
“Your ex is an asshole,” he says.
“Agreed.”
“Good.” He holds out his hand. “Now come back to bed with me.”
I’d be nuts to turn down that invitation.
I grasp his hand and hurry to keep up with him as he leads us back to his bedroom.
