Page 152 of Harbinger

“Their options?” My voice rises. How does he find new and unique ways to piss me off every day? “Do you really think Taliesin or Vessica will—”

“Yes, I do,” he cuts me off.

“You didn’t even let me finish the question.” I grit my teeth, trying to find the energy to pick the sword back up, to prove him wrong.

“Because you didn’t have to,” he says, his jaw clenching like it does when he’s frustrated.

Specifically, frustrated with me.

But when he finally continues, his tone is gentler. “You can’t go like this every day. Take a few days off—”

“Days?” The word explodes out of me. I can’t take that much time, not when I should have started this months ago, not when every breath I take is a reminder that I didn’t.

“Days,” he repeats firmly. “Rest. Hit the baths.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Something trembles in my voice, something that wants to crack. Break.

“No one will care,” he murmurs, taking a step closer. He reaches for my sword, but I lock my grip, refusing to release it. His hand covers mine, and this time, he’s the one who won’t let go. Not that I try to pull away. “They won’t say anything about the raven-mark.”

“They don’t have to say anything.” The truth chokes out of me, working its way around the lump in my throat. I blink against the watery heat that follows. I will not cry in front of him. He already thinks I’m broken. “It’s how they’ll look at me.”

“So?” He lifts a brow. Another step closer.

One more and there won’t be any space left between us at all.

“Why don’t you go to the baths?” I ask, unable to look away from him despite everything.

“That’s different.” A muscle flexes in his jaw, and my gaze travels to it—to the slight stubble shadowing the strong line it carves. He didn’t shave today. That usually means he didn’t sleep.

“Not for me.” It’s little more than a whisper. Part of me is still ashamed that I care. That I haven’t learned to live with my birthright. I haven’t even tried. “The last time someone saw the mark … it didn’t end well.”

He winces slightly, as if the words hit and stuck like the tip of my sword that’s still planted in the grass. “Arden …”

But I shake my head, a single tear escaping down my cheek. So fucking weak. “When they … That night …” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the rest from falling. “I see their faces when I close my eyes. I can’t … Not yet.”

Maybe someday I won’t hide. I have to believe that. I have to believe my entire life won’t drain down to the fickle actions of the Stars. Because if I stop, I don’t think I’ll ever believe in anything again.

Bishop’s fingers close over mine, his body shifting just enough that my breath catches. He goes still, and I open my eyes to find him locked in a silent war with himself. The kind that leaves no ground untouched. The battle waging in his eyes makes my core tighten with something I refuse to name. He opens his mouth, and a ragged breath slips free, his full lips parting like he’s already losing an argument with himself.

And I can’t look away … even if I should.

Because he’s looking at me like he cares. Not like I’m his responsibility. Or his duty. But someone who matters to him. Heat curls somewhere low and treacherous, and I hate myself more for how badly I want to lean into his grip, to see what would happen if one of us gave in.

If I gave in.

Temptation. That was his word for it. I didn’t understand it that night. But now? I get it. Get wanting something even though every part of me knows it’s wrong. Fighting to hold back when my fingers long to lace through his.

His free hand reaches for my hip, but he hesitates. It ghosts there, close enough that I’m sure I can almost feel him touching me. Far enough that I want to beg him to prove that he’s real again. Like that night he walked into my room and put some small piece of me back together. Even if I couldn’t admit it to him then.

Even if I won’t admit it to him now.

And somehow, I know that we’ll keep doing this. Keep tiptoeing up to this line. Keep waiting for the other one to cross it. Both of us stuck in an endless cycle of want and self-denial. Unable to control this thing drawing us together.

But I have to control something in my life before everything I was before him slips away.

So I pull back first, releasing the sword to his grasp.

Bishop sucks down a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and a slight wildness flashes in his blue eyes. But he takes my weapon and nods once, like he understands.