Page 14 of A Sweet Destruction

We hadn’t gotten to a place of near-mythical level respect in Pax and beyond without an unwillingness to accept a closed door. Esme had just slammed one right in my face, refusing to let me in on what she’d gone through.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I bit out, the fury in my tone not at all forced. I moved past her, intentionally letting our shoulders brush, as I headed towards the back of the tent, where our charred belongings stood waiting for us.

They were covered in a light layer of ash, though the smell of smoke was no stronger than it was outside. There was a thick, oppressive scent permeating the entire camp, likely there to stay until the next rainfall.

My chest pinched at the sight of the wooden box that sat next to our things, the box Bellamy had risked her life to save, thinking it was Esme’s prized possessions. I would have said the same, not because of the value of the jewelry housed there—though it was a fortune—but because of the memories behind each one. Every ring, necklace, and bauble in that box had a story behind it. Exchanged as payment, given as a thank you, or purchased for herself. That box was a testament to our time on Muli.

And Esme had barely spared it a glance when she realized the rest of our things were burning. All that wealth and memories, and the only thing she cared about was a bottle of pills.

I heard Esme shuffling behind me, busying herself somehow. I took my time sorting through our things, though I had the contents of the go-bag memorized by now. It was this exact scenario that had me checking and rechecking its contents every few days, needing to catalog what we’d grab if we had seconds to decide.

Thank God for that. My sister’s letters were in there, complete with drawings from my niece and nephew. The letter confirming my enlistment, pressed to the one informing me I’d been paired with a paranima.

With a grumble, I swiped up what I needed and stood. I barely looked at Esme as I said, “I’m going to the river.” I needed to wash off this fucking day. I needed to think. I needed to not be trapped with Esme, unsure whether I wanted to sit in my anger or acknowledge that relief had been pressing at the corners of my mind all day. That she was okay, that I finally had an answer to distance between us.

By the time I dipped in the gushing river, dunking my head under water still icy from the winter’s frost, I barely felt the biting chill pierce my heated, angry skin.

Chapter 5

Esme

I couldn’t sleep. Of course, I couldn’t. I was stuck in a fucking tent with Ford, without the protection of my secrets or the suppressant.

I’d never lived a day in his presence without one of them. I wasn’t enjoying a future where I had neither.

I would get more of the suppressant soon enough. Ford was mad now, but he’d realize soon enough we were better for it.

Especially when the Bond made itself known again. He’d be watching me now, and it would be harder to hide its effects. It wouldn’t take long for him to get tired of me secretly stealing his clothes to quell my need to have his scent around or me keeping watch over what he ate or how he slept—primal, base instincts that the Bond sipped on like ambrosia.

I could feel it. Rumbling, threatening in the back of my mind. Waiting for the first chance to spring back out and ruin my life. I wasn’t even being dramatic, though melodrama was a guilty pleasure of mine.

Already, I was battling an overwhelming sense of relief at the fact we’d have to share a tent for the foreseeable future. Even though it was large, tall enough that I could stand up straight inside, it still felt far more intimate than the cabin we’d shared.

Those sterile beds, pushed far to the opposite sides of the room, made it feel more like the boarding rooms at my old university than anything.

But a tent felt…it felt different. Any more thought put to that and I would be handing the Bond the key to its cage. I was happy leaving it to snarl and claw until it broke through itself.

Until then, I couldn’t be here. I couldn’t stay trapped under this thick, oppressive fabric, listening to the sound of Ford’s breathing and letting precious time tick by. For all I knew, there was another attack coming in from Muli, striking again right as we were recovering from the first blow.

They would be after the Bridge, I was sure of it. Maybe they were letting us do their dirty work for them, clean up the rubble and then pounce right when we had a clear path back to Vir. Or maybe they just wanted to trap us here, dry us out of food and resources and our sanity before they finally drove home the killing blow.

All that fear, all that danger, and I was lying here concerned about Ford. It was odd, the way he’d just accepted my refusal to speak to him. He’d flown out of the tent like a bat out of hell, heading for a dip in the river and returning half an hour later, seemingly unaware that he was ice cold.

It was a good thing, I tried to remind myself, that he’d left when he did. I was seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and walking him through every torturous moment of our early Match, ending with a grand flourish and telling him how I’d nearly died saving him.

Not a sweet, swooning moment where I was overcome by fear that I’d lose my Soul Mate.

No, it was a horrifying, haunting trauma that had brought me so close to death, my brain simply shut out those memories.

Ford didn’t want that on his conscience.

Hell, I didn’t.

I’d had to explicitly tell Soren and Freya, the two witnesses to my little meltdown, to stop treating me like I deserved praise. I didn’t deserve shit. The people I’d hurt saving him were stains on my soul I could never scrub out.

At least I’d been numb to it before, a fun little side effect of the suppressant I lied about every time Peter asked. I could tell it had dampened my emotional range, taking out my highest highs and lowest lows.

I’d welcomed it at first, but my tune was changing.