Page 182 of Sinister

“Then how?”

He presses his lips together, and I can see the answer won’t come easily.

“I’m done with you,” I say. “I’m done with everyone trying to control me. Just when I thought I found some small sliver of peace in my sleep . . . it wasn’t even real. You weren’t even real.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Petra. I was real. I am real. What we shared in those moments—that was the real me. Is the real me.”

“Then why lie to me? Again and again. When you know how much I hate it?” I croak.

“Because I had no other way to be close to you. No other way for you to truly know me. And I wanted you to know that I’m not like your father. Or Mr. Snowden. Or anyone else from your congregation. I don’t want you as a trophy. I don’t want you as a decoration. I want you. I want to know your thoughts. I want to hear your voice. I don’t want to silence you.”

“But can you not understand my side, too?” I whisper. “It’s like I’m suffocating. I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t even know myself. One part of me just wants to run into your arms and never let go. The other wants to flee.”

I take a deep breath, moisture clinging to my lashes.

“And then there’s my home. Everything has become unbearable. My father has . . . sold me to the highest bidder. For money. He’s abandoned his beliefs, his pride, everything. In the past, even though he was a tyrant, at least he had principles. But now? Now he’s just a tyrant.”

“I hope you don’t put me in the same category as your father.”

“Are you not?” I raise a brow.

“I’m not.” He grits his teeth. He takes a step closer and extends his arms outward, waiting.

He’s waiting for me to go to him.

I bite my lip and stare at him. And before I can think better of it, my feet carry me to him.

His arms wrap around my body, and I collapse into his embrace.

“Oh, my darling Petra . . .”

Tears spill down my cheeks. Sobs wrack my chest, and I can’t stop them. I can’t stop myself from crying, then wailing. I hold on to him as everything I’ve been bottling up breaks the surface.

“My darling girl, it hurts my heart to see you like this. But you have to trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you. On the contrary—I have everything planned. I will never let anyone lay a finger on you. I will never let anyone hurt you. Or touch you. You will not marry him. You will not marry anyone but me.”

“But how can you do that? How can you stop them?” I plead.

“Don’t worry about that for now. Just know I will never let anything happen to you. You believe me, don’t you?”

“I . . .” I manage through my sobs. “I think I do.”

Do I? Just moments ago, I was telling him I don’t trust him, yet that was a lie, wasn’t it? Time and time again, my actions have not matched my words, even as I spoke them to myself.

“I know you do,” he replies smoothly. “You’re far too smart, Petra. You must have known for a long time that those dreams weren’t really dreams. And yet you kept coming back to me. You kept calling out for me.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper.

He smiles and lowers his hand to my chest, right above my heart. A pulsing warmth radiates through me.

“Here. This ties us together in ways you can’t yet fathom. What you feel—I feel. When you hurt, I hurt. And when you cry . . . my goddamn heart bleeds for you.”

“The sigils . . . they’re real?”

“They are.”

I immediately unbutton my bolero and peer down at my neckline. Sure enough, the mark is there, dark, intense, and visible.

“But how come I couldn’t see it during the day?”