“Rest, Lucille.”
I dropped his hand like he’d burned me. What was that now? The fifth or sixth time he had used my name?
“What is it?” I asked, sitting up.
“Not now.” He took a step back.
I luscelered in front of him. “You wanted to tell me something. And I have a feeling whatever it is, it’s bad. So please, save me from a sleepless night and explain.”
Fear worked through his white-knuckled fists, the shadows winding around his neck, the flickering darkness in his eyes. It invaded his mind and soul, eating him alive. I stepped back when I should’ve stepped forward. But his fear was infectious, eroding, and the larger it grew, the more I wished I had never forced his hand.
“This is the different way, isn’t it?”
He stared, drinking in my features, lingering on each one as if he weren’t searching, but memorizing.
I rubbed my chest, already feeling the pain. “That you lose me?”
Silence. Resounding, terrifying silence.
“Say it.”
He turned his head, Hell’s moon slashing shadows and light acrossthe dejected planes of his face. Then he tipped it toward the ceiling, eyes closing as if sending a prayer to the Weaver.
“Ronen. Say it,” I snapped.
Those dark eyes reopened on me, guiding me toward the path of destruction. My muscles tensed, bracing for the final blow. My heart attempted to escape my chest. My knees questioned whether they’d be able to hold me up.
One second.
One breath.
One shudder.
“I knew you were killing your mother.”
Time slowed just enough for me to feel every part of my rib cage crush that broken organ inside me. And it had to be broken. Why else would I fall for a lying hypocrite? Why else would I still ache for the comfort in his gaze after he admitted tothat?
I had read in a book that your first heartbreak was the worst. But I remembered what it had felt like when Aspen ripped me in two. This? This didn’t compare. I not only bled from one puncture, but two—his.
“Block it.”
He flinched as if I’d slapped him. His guilt swelled. His sorrow. It slammed me down, shredded me apart, and still expected more from me.
“Block our bond, Ronen.”
“I—I can’t anymore.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
Anymore.
I laughed. It sounded deranged. Ronen’s distressed shadows jerked with the sound.
“That’s why I never passed out. You accepted our bond.”
“I refused to lose you.”
That I understood. And if he had admitted to accepting it hours ago, I might’ve considered it myself.
“Like you refused to tell me I was killing my mom.”
