"Come to me rabbit," I desire her now, soft curves, gentle fragrance, and gentle kisses. "I want to hold you."
"No."
A word I am not used to hearing. She lays in bed with her back to me. "Please don't touch me."
Panic. Where has this come from? Why? Damn her. How can she elicit these feelings from me? "Why?" Sitting up, I reach over to turn on the lights. "Sit up and speak to me."
I reach for her—habit, instinct, want—but she shifts, cool as moonlight, just out of reach. My fingers close on the warm emptiness she leaves behind “Ione,” I say, softer than I mean to. “Please.”
“No, I’m fine, really I am.” She rolls onto her back like the conversation bores her. But her jaw’s too tight. Her arms folded too neat. Humans wear their pain like a badly kept secret.
“Fine,” I echo. “I suppose this is the kind of ‘fine’ that comes before someone throws a lamp.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
There it is. The venom. It stings and I—damn me—I like it. But not like this. Not when it’s pointed at me with such… finality.
“You’re angry.” I state it plainly, as if naming the storm might stop the rain.
“No.” She stares at the ceiling. “I'm just allergic to bullshit.”
“Rabbit, do not debase me, I am a Primordial, what bullshit have I given you?"
She laughs. Bitter, brittle. “That’s the thing, Athanasius. Sometimes the truth does more damage.”
My mouth opens, but no words find their way out. Because somethingiswrong. And somehow—I don’t yet know how—I think I put the knife in her hand and showed her where to aim.
She won’t look at me.
The silence between us stretches long enough to snap. I watch the delicate rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch like she's holding something invisible but heavy.
“Ione,” I say again, quieter now. “Tell me what I’ve done.”
She sits up slowly, touching her bonnet to make sure it's secure on her head. Her eyes finally meet mine, and they are cold—notindifferent, no, something worse. Like a door slamming shut behind glass.
“You haven’t done anything,” she says. “Not really. Just reminded me of something I forgot. That I was happy before you. That I didn’t need—” her voice catches for the briefest second, “—this.”
My stomach drops like I’ve stepped off some invisible ledge. “You were happy,” I repeat, tasting the words like they’re foreign. “Without me.”
“I wasfine.” She stands, too fast. “And I will be again. You want to be free, right? Cool, let's kill the mage," She points to her finger where my ring sits. "I’ll help you. And then we’re done.”
There’s a ringing in my ears. “Done?” I stand up quickly from the bed, my fingers ache to touch her, but she holds up her hand, stopping me. “What do you meandone?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” she snaps. “Until this is over—whatever you’ve dragged me into—you’ll sleep in the other room.”
Sleep. The word lands strange in my chest. Cold. Final.
“You’re angry.” I say it again, because I’m grasping at anything.
“I’mdone,Athanasius. And I’m tired.” She points at the clock indicating the late hour.
“No.” I shake my head, something restless and primal clawing its way up my spine. “You’re beingemotional.Humans do this—burn things down just because they don’t understand them.”
“Oh,that’srich,” she laughs, but there’s no humor left in it. “Coming from a death primordial. What do you know about understanding? About love?”
Ah, there it is. The sting. The little flame she throws straight at my chest.
I smirk, even though I feel something inside me fracture. “Oh," She allows me closer, looming over her, and still this fire makes me crave her. My hands burn from not touching her. "Look at my rabbit, she's showing some backbone. Congratulations, you're a hare now.” I reach for her and she sidesteps me. “I know enough to want it. Enough to know I—”
