Adira slips her hand back into mine, but I hardly feel it as I search for something familiar in the reflection that stares back at me. I find nothing. Even my eyes are different, the deep brown irises muddled by the blood of exploded capillaries.
As horrific as my appearance is, it is not what sends an acute sense of dread slicing between my ribs.
It is the sudden realization that with even with Adira’s small hand wrapped in mine, Istillcannot feel her. I should be able to taste the wind of her wildness; I should be able to wrap myself in the sunshine of her love; I should be able to see the colors of her regret, and the airy textures of her dreams.
But I don’t feel any of it, even as the fire recedes. Because where my magic should be, there is only an empty hole.
Chapter thirty-seven
Willa is enamored by my new tattoos, and I am enamored by the way she touches them. I lay back, stretching my aching muscles, enjoying the soft feel of her fingers. She traces the lines of color I’ve inked through every story on my body, because each one—each tale that imprinted itself onto my heart through the centuries—were a path leading me to the best story of all.Her.
My death lazes at our heads, and I’m thankful for the brief respite from its painful hold. It is as exhausted as I am—nerves raw and frayed and vulnerable—but it is the first time since I returned that I don’t feel the pull of its ravening need. With Willa, it does not need more. It is sated.
Her fingers trail over the ‘V’ of my hips before rolling back up to circle my ribs where the tattoos split around a shiny new scar. “I used to know every inch of you,” she says quietly, fingertips bumping over the gnarled tissue. “And now so much of you is a mystery again.”
Willa pulls her hands away, her lashes flickering downward. “While my skin is the same as ever.”
I catch her wrist, and roll her on top of me. “Your new scars may be invisible on your body, Darling, but I see them all the same. And I intend to learn the story of every one, and to exact my revenge on all those who caused them.”
Her mouth twists. “I caused them. Just like I caused yours.”
I hum, pressing her hand back to my ribs. “Youweren’t the one who stabbed me while my back was turned.”
“You’re right. I prefer to do it while staring you in the eyes,” she says with a light laugh that pierces through my chest more surely than any sword. Her laughter is so rare, a delicacy of the highest order.
“As you should. A defining feature of your character, truly.”
I let a leveling breath escape slowly through my teeth, everything in me warring against reliving any of the past. Like if I even dare think of it, somehow the present will dissolve into the fever dream it feels like. It has been three days since Willa arrived bleeding on my doorstep, and my heart has yet to settle. Always lurching, always racing, always on edge.
Because none of it feels real. And I know better than anyone, the land of dreams will ferret out your deepest hopes to taunt you with just before they are stolen away. Like the Indomnitus; like my power; like my freedom. Everything comes with a cost.
But this time, I’m prepared to pay. With blood, with pain, with everything I have. I meant what I said—I’ll burn the island to the ground before I let it take Willa from me once more.
So, I allow her into the past year, pressing her fingers into the scar marring my shoulder. “This was courtesy of my brother the same day I arrived on the mainland.”
Her palm is warm against my skin as I guide it to the opposite side of my abdomen, where a long, thin scar slashes through oneof my favorite stories. “This one was a rapier belonging to one of Wendy’s hired guards.”
Beneath my guidance, her hand skims down the sharp bone of my hip and over the top of my thigh to my knee. “And this…is because I got roaring drunk and tripped up the stairs.”
This time when Willa laughs, it’s loud and radiant and makes me feel like I’ve won something.
“Of all the things I’ve missed, I’m especially sorry to have missed the Carrion King falling on his ass.”
I sniff primly. “I’ll have you know it was spectacularly graceful, just as everything I do always is.”
She laughs again, and I dart forward to taste it, its effervescent magic sparkling between our tongues.
“I will tell you everything you missed, Willa,” I tell her in earnest when we part. “Every horrible thought, every terrible thing I did to get back to you…you only need ask.”
I mean it as a vow to her—a promise to never repeat the mistakes of our past that led to our separation. But Willa stiffens at its utterance, something dark flashing in her eyes that has nothing to do with that infernal shadow.
“I don’t think I want to know everything,” she mutters, pulling away suddenly.
For an absurd moment, I consider tying her up again. Anything to keep her from retreating—from slipping from my grasp like silk, fluttering into the wind until she’s no more than a distant memory.
Instead, I snake an arm around her waist and measure my words. “You were just lamenting the fact there are things you don’t know, and now you don’t wish to hear any of it?”
Willa chews at her bottom lip, her eyes skating past me to the bay of windows beyond. They only rest a moment, before bouncing to the next thing and then the next. Everywhere but me.
