Despite his irritation with me, Evander’s hand falls soft on my shoulder as he passes, then he threads through the door, leaving us alone together.
After I swore to myself I wouldn’t be alone with him again.
He looks so stark in the large room, stone walls dark in contrast with the ridiculous things they make us wear. An enormous space, all strewn with color and gaiety. Then, by himself in the center of it all, a broken man bleeding, his costume in shreds, his hair wet and tangled, clinging to his too-lined face.
He’s no longer the sun and warmth of Atrea.
They’ve taken him, drowned him, doused the spark that made my life worth living for the first time in years.
“What the fuck do you want?” His voice breaks on the words, and he cuts off ragged, stifling any emotion.
I move fast and without thought until I’m in front of him, sinking to my knees between his legs. Without a look at his face, without invitation, I wrap my arms around him and pull him in tight. He collapses into me. His chest swells with deep breaths, shuddering as he tries to control himself. His hands press into my back as though I’m the one real thing he can hold on to—a lifeline in this stagnant pool.
And I am. I can see it now—I’m the lifeline, for him, that I always needed in this place. That I never had.
So I thread my fingers into his cold, damp hair, hold him against my shoulder, and tell him all the things I’ve told myself over and over, every time.
“That wasn’t you out there. It was someone else. It was all a game.”
His fingers dig into my back, and a small cry pulls from his chest.
“You have family to return to. You have to protect them.” The heat of his tears bathes my bare shoulder, the shudder in his chest making me hold him closer.
“You did the right thing. This is battle. It’s war. You’ve trained your whole life for this. And you’re going to fight, no matter what, until you get home to your people.”
“I didn’t train for this,” he says, quiet, firm, repulsed. As he should be.
So I break my hold and settle back to look into his eyes. “What you did is no different to what you would have done if he’d tried to kill Esme with his bare hands. You need to get back to her, and you need to protect her. That’s all you were doing.”
His eyes brim, and even if I shouldn’t, I can’t help but wipe away the tears.
“This world we live in… You can’t afford to let it in. Robin, you’ve got to keep on. It’s survival. That’s all it is.”
His hand caresses my cheek, a mirror to the way I’m holding him. And my heart’s beating almost as hard as it was when I watched him deliver those fatal blows to Elijah’s skull.
He whispers, “I need you.”
The words are so soft from his lips, and they tear me all apart. I fight back the tears that come too fast, too painful. I want to swear at him again, say something acid, right now, when he needs me more than ever. Sever this thing between us. Make him hate me like he should.
“Marco…”
There isn’t a word I can say—not a thing I can do. I’m held in this place, crystallized in this moment. One word, one move, and it’s over. And it needs to be.
But when he presses his forehead to mine, when I feel the tears fresh on his cheeks, I can’t say a damn thing.
“I can’t go back there,” he whispers. “I can’t look at them. I can’t face them. That place and all those people, and I’m going to kill them. Marco, I can’t.”
Every still-living thread of my soul is screaming at me,Take him home. Take him in your arms and hold him. Take him home and keep him safe.
But all I can say is, “You have to go.”
Some small whimper breaks from his lips, and it pulls my heart into a thousand irreparable pieces.
“Marco…”
“Birdie…”
Lips soft and tentative, so loving it might kill me, press against mine. A kiss I can’t resist or deny, that my entire being cries out for.
