Page 40 of The Tyranny of our Longing

“Stay as long as you need,” he said.

She nodded before dropping her gaze, afraid of what might happen should she not. The prick of tears was sharp in her throat, the warmth of his hand seeping into her skin. But before she could even offer herself the choice of leaning into his touch, he asked, “You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?”

She froze, dread pooling at the base of her spine as she dragged her stinging eyes back to his. There was a change in his face that could have been invisible to anyone but her, a difference in the angles of his body, in the very pattern of his breathing. And when she did not answer, he pulled back, his hand falling away from her face.

“Will you tell me?”

She did not know which was worse, the hope or the fear waging war in his eyes, and she suddenly wished she had never come here. Never agreed to meet him, never taken this contract. Even if it would have damned her.

His fingers tightened on her arm, his voice almost breaking with the plea. “Miss Mercer!”

She opened her mouth, but it was dry, the words like gravel scratching against her tongue. But her time was up, and she could no longer hide behind the mask of ignorance. She had to speak.

“Yes. I think I understood something. But I am not at all certain, and I hope I am wrong, but I fear that I am not.” She pulled in a ragged breath, her eyes brimming with tears she did not wish to shed. “But I need to be sure before I tell you. Please. Allow me to be sure.”

He stared a moment, stunned by the vehemence of her words, and she could see for certain that fear had won the war. She swallowed against the aching knot in her throat, then whispered, “Please know that I am sorry for the distress I am causing you. I wish I could take it away.”

He blinked, as if finally awakened, his nod but a jerk of his head. “Thank you.”

He pried his fingers from her, then pushed to his feet. He looked about the room, as if unsure where he was or where he should be instead. Then he spotted the empty glass on the nightstand, and took it to the sideboard to refill it. When he placed it back beside her, his face was blank, washed clean of all emotion. An empty canvas for whatever the future would deign to paint.

“Sleep,” he said without looking at her. “We shall continue once you are better.”

With that he left the room.

CHAPTER 32

Phaedra moved down a dim hallway, every step kicking up whispers against the embellished green walls. A door stood cracked at the other end, darkness spilling onto its threshold, its swirling dance beckoning her forward. Yet she stopped, some unformed thought or vague memory warning her that it might not be the right way. But just as she would turn, hoping to find some other path out of this maze, she heard the sound of footfalls echo on the stairs behind her, and the ground shifted beneath her feet.

He had found her.

She knew it was him, knew the rhythm of his steps like the terrified beat hammering against her chest. Knew the empty pang of her lungs, the ice moving into her veins, her body caged by drowning, shuddering fear.

For how could she ever have thought that she would be free of him? That he would never find her again?

She staggered against the wall, her legs suddenly unsteady, and her head whipped around, desperate for escape.

There was no escape.

Then she saw the door at the end of the hallway, the billowing darkness pushing its wings open, and she shot off toward it, uncaring if it was indeed the wrong way, because now it was the only.

She heard him behind her, his movements slow and steady, as if he already knew she would not get away, and she urged her feet to hurry, to untangle themselves from the plush carpet threatening to swallow her with every step.

And just when she thought she was lost, that she would not make it in time, she saw the darkness swell, its tendrils reaching out to bridge the distance between them. And before she could even register the jolt of fear over what this meant, they snapped around her wrist, and she was yanked through the door.

She stumbled into the room, then whirled, the heavy doors shrieking in protest as she struggled to push them closed. Her arms trembled as she finally managed it, and she slumped against the wood, her strength all but exhausted in the process.

Her chest ached as she pulled in a breath, her throat burning with memories of screaming, and she looked around the room, momentarily blinded by the light.

The darkness around her had dissolved, leaving in its place not the emerald flash she was expecting, but a space filled to the brim with blazing candles.

Rows lined the mantelpiece, crowding the tables, and even the floor in front of the large windows, all trace of shadows exiled to the very corners of the room. The air glowed amber, its heat a startling blast, as if she had stepped into the heart of an inferno.

With shaking limbs, she pushed to her feet, her heart thundering with every stifled breath, and her hand snaked behind her, searching for the handle. But before she could find it, a loud crash sent her staggering into the room, as something—or someone—rammed itself into the door.

She backed away, unable to tear her terror-stricken gaze from the shuddering wood, as if wanting to witness the very moment it would break.

She bumped against a table, then a couch, before backing into the wall behind it. The door seemed to rattle on its very hinges as she slowly slid down, her trembling body finally hidden in the only spot left in shadow.