Slowly, I pull back, looking into his eyes.
Before I can stop myself, I kiss him. This time, it’s filled with the pain that binds us, the passion that seems to send sparks down my body. His hands move, wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer. I tilt his chin upward, deepening the kiss.
He tastes like the freedom I never had, like the wildest dreams, promising to make them all come true. He’s my Heaven, my fallen angel with clipped wings. And if it’s the last thing I’ll do, I’ll give him back the wings and see him fly. This man is the reason I’m alive.
Arlo brings one hand, tangling it with my hair, pouring all of his adoration for me into the kiss. I can feel every ounce of the sincerity of his love, and for a moment, my chest tightens. I’m notworthy of having him, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be the person he needs me to be.
“I love you, Arlo. I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of loving. I love you so fucking much.’’
The words come out in a broken whisper, my deepest, darkest insecurities resurfacing. I swallow harshly, looking into his eyes. For a moment, he’s shocked, eyes widening comically. Then, they soften, and another wave of tears slides down his face.
“I love you more,’’ he responds without missing a beat. “You’re the reason I’m alive, butterfly. You’re the one I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for, and if needed, I’ll burn this fucking world to the ground.’’
A small chuckle slips from me. “I heard you already started with New York.’’
His eyes glimmer with mischief, a cheeky grin pulling on his lips. “Anything for you. Now, I’m taking you home, butterfly.’’
FOURTEEN
With a deep breath, I put the hairbrush aside, my hands trembling. An hour of trying to detangle Blair’s hair and an hour of her telling me it’s not painful, it’s finally done. The hairbrush is filled with hair, and I quickly clean it before Blair can see it.
She turns to look at me, and my heart clenches at the sight of her. She’s pale, she’s lost so much weight, and the little life I was able to bring back to her eyes is now gone.
“Freya will do an exam on you. Will that be okay?”
She pauses for a moment, then nods.
“Do you want me in the room?”
Hesitantly, she shakes her head. “No. I’d prefer if it’sjust Freya and me.”
“Of course, butterfly.”
As if on cue, Freya strolls into the manor. She’s carrying a bag with her, and uncharacteristically, her eyes are softer than usual. She’s known for being, well, a bitch. Yet, right now, there’s something behind her eyes that tells me she’ll approach this situation delicately.
“Blair,” Freya speaks, taking a seat across from her on the opposite couch, leaving enough room between them. “How are you feeling?”
“Just a little hungry.”
My ears perk. “Anything in particular you’d like to eat?”
“Meat, of any sort. Please?”
My heart squeezes at the plea in her voice, jaw tightening harshly. “Of course. I’ll have something ready by the time you two are finished. Let me know if you need anything.”
Blair nods, offering a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. With one last, lingering glance at her, I leave the two of them alone, walking into the kitchen. I’m lucky that Mom is big on having the fridge stuffed at all times, and it’s not hard for me to pull out some ingredients and start assembling a meal.
While the chicken is in the pan, the smell of many seasonings lingering in the air, my eyes flick to my wristwatch. It’s late, and there’s no sight of Mom or Dad. I trust them enough that they’re able to handle themselves, but the fact that they ended up not showing up at the location is irking me.
After I took Blair out of that hellhole, Cove sent me a message. Simmons is alive, injured, but it’s not fatal. He’s being taken care of properly and will not be able to escape. X has dipped again, and Raven, Niko, and Lucas took care of everyone else. Kaya burned them all to the ground afterwards, leaving no bodies behind. From what Cove told me, she was sitting close to the fire, with a bottle of whiskey in her hands, observing and admiring it.
Time ticks painfully slow, my mind switching between worrying about my parents and wondering why the hell Freya’s taking this long. The timer on the kitchen counter ticks, and I remove the cheesy, saucy chicken from the pan, putting it on a plate with some of Blair’s favorite vegetables.
My hand reaches for the small cabinet filled with alcohol, and I quickly pick a good-quality whiskey. Dad will probably be pissed I took one out of his collection, but I can’t bring myself to care. At this point, any and all alcohol that reaches my mouth tastes like water. It slides down my throat with ease, with no burning sensations or trouble swallowing it down.
Sound of footsteps approaching makes me pause, and I put the bottle away, anticipating Freya’s entrance. Soon enough, she walks through the door, looking between me and the plate. Her brows narrow, nose scrunching a little.
“How is she?”
