Chapter 40: OBSIDIAN PAST
Present: Chicago
Lightning sears the darkroom in a flash of white as the wind beats against the windows. A rare thundersnow storm descends upon us.
Cece meows and scurries out of the bedroom, no doubt to find Hannah or Ren for comfort.
Unease knots my chest as I brush my hair at the antique desk. My silk nightgown clings to my skin after my shower.
Where is he? It’s midnight, and Elias is usually home by now after doing whatever he does with his shadowy business.
Ever since the Benefaction a week ago, something has shifted between us.
I’d wake up to my usual Geraldine’s Chocolates on the nightstand, but now they’d be accompanied with a single, long-stemmed rose, and the lounge chair would be pulled up at my bedside.
Instead of feeling exposed, butterflies would swarm in my gut at the thought of him watching me sleep.
And a secret voice would whisper in my head.
Why doesn’t he stay?
“Kian’s gone… Don’t hope for anything more.”
Maybe he’s right. The cutthroat, brutal Elias today is nothing like the sweet, gentle boy of my childhood. I saw it at the Benefaction—his viciousness as he protected my honor, the bloodlust in his eyes.
But then, there’s his tender touch as he mended my dress. The way those emerald pools still stare at me like I’m his salvation.
And so, despite all the red flags he waves, I realize one truth.
If he asked—if my sweet Kian or my savage Elias asked me to give him a chance—I’d say yes. Not because it’s smart or safe, but because my heart calls for it.
No one’s ever made me feel the way he does. And maybe I’m still the hopeless romantic wishing for a certain music box, or the girl who’d look at her parents’ wedding photos, dreaming about an enduring love—even if it ended in death.
My heart aches when I trace the carvings of the little cherubs on the desk—gold-tipped arrows and all.
That’s why it looks familiar. A long time ago, when innocent Elise told gentle Kian about her dream house, she mentioned such a desk.
And he got it for me, all without ever revealing who he was.
A crash startles me. The front door slams open.
Heavy footfalls reach my ears.
My muscles tense in anticipation. I know that gait, that sound.
Elias.
I set down my brush and stand just as the door swings open.
My breath goes shallow.
Elias grips the doorframe, his dark suit jacket and shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging around his neck. His thick hair is in disarray, like he’s been yanking at it.
But it’s not his dishevelment, the antithesis of the calm, conniving dealer of secrets, that steals my breath.
It’s his eyes.
A swirling tempest haunts those greens, like he’s seen one tragedy too many.
