I didn’t though.
At his sharp exhale, I lifted my hand.
“Mari . . .”
He took a powerful step across the kitchen, then he stopped. He’d never been wary. He’d always gone after whatever he wanted. He especially had never been wary with me. But he paused, his expression shuttering.
Suddenly, I wished for the callback ring so I could know what he was feeling. It’d lied—he’d shielded his emotions, but at least I’d had an idea.
Right now, except for that initial shocked exhale, I had no idea at all.
I took a small step forward, lowering my hand. The grilled cheeses had begun to burn, but Finn ignored them. Instead, he watched me warily, his gaze flicking from the dried blood on my throat back to my eyes.
A cosmic storm of nebula and lightning sparked in his navy eye. What did he see when he looked through it? Was the world still solange-soaked, or had he shed that with death?
The room pulsed with an unreadable emotion, and the golden rope between us throbbed and vibrated like a tuning fork struck. Finn clenched his fist and took another deep breath.
He took up so much space that the large kitchen felt unbearably small. He was taller than he’d been and even more muscular. Perhaps that was what the crown did: it took what you were and made you even more. His size didn’t frighten me. He’d always been big, and I’d almost always been small. But he’d only ever used his size to protect me, or to wrap me in his arms. I’d only ever felt safe with him.
Now?
There wasn’t anything safe about the way he was looking at me.
His face hardened, and that electric charge snapped and sparked around him, lighting his eyes and zapping me like a live wire.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, and I flinched at the power coiled beneath his words.
If Finn fought like I knew he could, if he used all his power, would I be able to stand up against him? Would I survive?
I doubted it.
It had been a mistake to come here, but I still had to ask.
“Do you have something you want to say to me?” My voice came out barely a whisper. “Anything? Finn?”
He blinked, and the lightning in his eye glowed neon-blue. He closed his green eye and peered at me with his solange eye. I held still, my heart pounding, a trickle of sweat trailing down my forehead.
Then he took a slow, careful step forward. Then another. He reached out, and I held my breath as he brushed his fingers over my cheek. His gaze dipped lower, and he touched the dried blood on my throat. It flaked off under his fingers.
“Who did this to you?” He asked it casually, as if the answer wasn’t important.
I didn’t answer. I was still waiting for him to tell me we’d go and ride the ghost train. I was still waiting for him to acknowledge that he was coming to me at night.
At my silence, Finn’s expression tightened.
“What does it matter?” I finally asked, and Finn dropped his fingers from my neck, leaving a cold, icy tingle behind.
“I don’t want to see you hurt.”
I smiled—not because of what he said, but because he’d once said something similar before.
Still, he hadn’t mentioned the ghost train or the dreams.
My blood was scalding me, burning through my veins at the nearness of him and the desire to fold myself against him.
“I always hurt,” I admitted. “Your love hurts. Your love is excruciating. Every time I’m near you, every time I think of you, all I feel is pain.”
His face went even paler. It leached of all color.
