Page 213 of Sinister

“But . . . ?” he prompts, looking at me expectantly.

“I don’t think you should sell yourself so short, Sin. You are a good man. The mere reasoning behind your actions proves it. You’re not doing this to destroy; you’re doing this to protect. Even if it’s only me.”

Shock flickers across his face. A flush rises to his cheeks, and he promptly looks away. “I never thought you’d understand me so well,” he murmurs, half to himself.

“Perhaps because you never gave me a chance to.”

He turns his head toward me, swallowing thickly.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he whispers.

“No.” I shake my head. “You know I’m not.”

His eyes are wet, lashes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

Of all the things he could have said, he only whispers, “Thank you, Petra. Thank you for accepting me when no one else has.”

His voice cracks on the final syllable, and something inside me shatters.

A fierce protectiveness swells in my chest. I want to wrap him in my arms, shield him from the rejection of the world, keep him safe with me where he is loved and accepted.

I lean in and press a kiss to the tears on his cheek.

I don’t know where this boldness comes from. I just know he needs to feel it—that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

“Ah, Petra, you’re so sweet, my little darling. What would I do without you?”

“Well, you don’t have to wonder about that anymore,” I say softly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes you are,” he murmurs, then trails off. “Every day, I have to wonder if this is a dream. If you’re actually real.”

“I am,” I whisper. “I am, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you, Sin.”

He groans and pulls me tighter against his chest.

“I never thought telling you the truth would feel like this. I never imagined you’d accept it. That you wouldn’t recoil from me. That you wouldn’t revile me for what I’ve done.”

My heart aches for him.

He’s spent so long being demonized by everyone that he still half-expects me to turn against him. I can feel it in the way he touches me, hesitant and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for me to vanish. The way his fingers ghost over my face, as though memorizing the contours before they’re gone.

He gazes at me like I’m something fragile and fading, like I’m just a dream he’s terrified to wake up from.

And as much as I want to kiss him, to surrender completely to the warmth of his arms and lose myself in this moment, there are still truths I need to uncover.

There are still things I need to know.

“What about the mark on my chest?” I ask quietly. “Why was it not there when I would look for it during the day?”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

“That was just a small illusion I performed. I’ve learned over time that I can channel the energy I use to control the shadows into other things. But because it’s not the core of my ability, I can only manage it on a small scale—just enough to hide the sigil while you were awake and looking at it. The moment night fell, and you went to sleep, it would reappear.”

“That’s impressive,” I murmur. “But why would you hide it from me?”

“You know why,” he says. “Because I didn’t want you to be scared.” He pauses, then adds more softly, “And because when you started believing that our encounters were just dreams . . . I didn’t want to take that away from you. Or from myself. You were freer with me that way—in a way I don’t think you would’ve allowed yourself to be if you knew the truth.”

I swallow. “You’re right. I let myself be free with you. I felt safe.”