Torric exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t—” He hesitates, searching for the words. “She doesn’t blame you.”
Doesn’t she? I don’t say it out loud. I just feel it in every interaction since that moment. Every time she hesitates before looking at me, or her shadows curl toward someone else first. When she leans into Malrik, into Finn, into anyone but me. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Maybe she does. Either way, the space between us is growing, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, forcing the words through the weight in my chest. “I know what I am now.”
Torric watches me, silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, he says, “Is that what this is about? The berserker?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The truth of it is written in every tense line of my body, in the frost that forms unconsciously around my fingers when I think about what happened.
He curses under his breath. “Aspen, you’re not—”
“I am.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I drag a hand down my face, suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all. “I lost control, Torric. I felt it happen. I felt something else take over, something that didn’t care about anything but blood.”
“I know.” He exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “I did too.”
His admission makes something twist inside me, something I don’t want to name. Maybe we are worse than I thought. Maybe that’s what Kaia sees when she looks at us now, something dangerous, something to be wary of. The thought settles like ice in my stomach.
I drop my head against the railing, letting out a slow breath that mists in the air before me. “I don’t want to scare her.”
Torric leans beside me, his own gaze locked on the sanctuary below. “You don’t.”
I don’t answer, because I’m not sure if I believe him. Because I still remember the way her breath caught when she saw me change, the way her hands shook when she reached for me afterward. The memory of it burns beneath my skin.
And now she’s in there with him. Kieran. The ancient one with eyes that see too much and say too little. The one who looks at her like she holds the answers to questions he’s been asking for centuries. And maybe I don’t deserve to be angry about that. Maybe I don’t deserve to be anything at all when it comes to her.
Void help me, the berserker in my blood doesn’t give a damn about what I deserve. It only knows one thing: Kaia is ours. But the longer she looks at him like he’s the only one who’s ever mattered, the harder it is to pretend it doesn’t hurt like hell.
Ice crystals spread beneath my fingers, delicate patterns that speak to the storm building inside me. I watch them grow, forcing myself to breathe. To remain in control. To be the calm one, the steady one, the one who thinks before he acts.
But the truth is, I’m none of those things anymore. Not really. Not since I watched Kaia fall and felt something primal and ancient tear through the careful walls I’ve built around myself.
Not since I realized I might love her in ways I have no right to.
Chapter 15
Torric
Torric
I push off the railing, exhaling sharply. I shouldn’t leave him alone like this, not when he’s spiraling, but I don’t know how to pull him out of it this time. And I don’t think I can do it alone.
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind racing. Malrik. Out of everyone, he’s the only one who might be able to cut through Aspen’s walls. They don’t always get along, but Malrik sees things the rest of us don’t. He understands Kaia in ways I don’t even want to think about, and Aspen is losing himself because of her. Because of what we’ve become.
I find him near the sanctuary’s entrance, his silver eyes distant as he stares toward Kaia’s room. Even now, with everything going on, she’s still on his mind—I see it in the way his fingerstwitch, restless. His gaze flicks to me the second I step into the room.
“Something wrong?”
“It’s Aspen,” I say, hesitating just long enough for Malrik’s expression to sharpen. “He’s… not handling things well.”
Malrik doesn’t blink. “You mean he’s falling apart.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah.”
He exhales slowly, standing. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs. He—” I hesitate, rubbing a hand over my face. “He thinks he’s a monster.”
Malrik’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of something behind his eyes. Understanding.
