Page 11 of Veiled Yearning

His eyes darken to a stormy gray. “Dammit.” He sucks in a deep breath and exhales heavily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Showing you the vision without your permission—”

“And touching me,” I interject. “You shouldn’t do that without asking, either.”

Guilt shadows his features. “You’re right.”

As I stare at Gavril in shock—did he really just say I was right?—he continues. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that. It was wrong. Frederick says I act impulsively when I’m—” He cuts himself off. “Anyway. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

While I could attribute his change of heart to another attempt to sway me, I don’t think that’s what this is. He really does look sorry, and his gaze keeps jumping from my face to my bare feet, which have a distinctly purple tint to them.

I’m not sure I’m ready to let him off the hook yet, though. But then, in an abrupt change of topic, Gavril gestures to my bookshelves and says, “I like your book collection.”

What? How did we go from Custodians and visions of impending doom to books?

“I like the world records books the best,” he clarifies. “All the random facts.”

Startled, I parrot, “My world record books? The random facts?”

Impossibly, two spots of faint pink appear on his cheekbones. “I like trivia. Just… the randomness of it. And then the world record books, people spending all this time trying to break a record in something absolutely ridiculous. The tallest house of cards. The largest pizza. But they care so deeply about it. The dedication…”

I think this is the most I’ve heard Gavril speak about something that doesn’t have to do with the Sentinels. And it’s oddly… endearing.

A layer of ice melts from the walls I’ve constructed, and I find myself saying, “I like them, too. Not as much as science fiction and fantasy, but I always buy the newest world record book every year.”

A wistful expression moves across his face. “If I were… normal. I’d play trivia. On a team or something. Not that it’ll ever happen, but—”

“Maybe it will. You never know.” I’m not sure why I say it. Maybe as an olive branch, since I’m about to offer to work with him for the foreseeable future. Or maybe because I have my own dreams that I’ve given up on, too.

We stare at each other, silence hanging heavy between us.

I’m off balance again, but this time, for a different reason. I don’t want to empathize with Gavril. I want to hang onto my resentment and anger instead.

So I break the silence with a clipped, “I’ve decided. I’ll go with you. To help.”

He jolts. “Chiara—”

“I’ll make the weapons and tokens,” I clarify. “But don’t ask me to try imbuing a person with anything. I won’t. And if you push it, I’ll leave.”

“Okay. Just the items.”

Now that I’ve said it, my stomach cramps with nerves. Anxiety tightens my chest. The reality of helping Gavril—leaving my little hiding spot in Maine, being around other people, being exposed—makes me feel sick.

Gavril leans forward, propping his elbows on his legs. His gaze softens a little. “It’s safe, Chiara. We’ll be at Larkin’s home; he lives out by Buffalo, beyond where the Veil has spread. His property is extremely secure, and there will be plenty of Sentinels there to protect you.”

“You can’t be sure it’s safe,” I retort. “I thought I was safe before, and then—”

The memory of being captured crashes into me, vivid as if it was yesterday. Making a rare trip to Portland to visit the bookstore instead of ordering my books online. The man by my car, lingering, setting my alarm bells ringing. And then, before I could follow my instincts and run, the man hurting me so badly the pain took over everything.

Gavril moves from the couch to the floor, settling down across from me. Not within arm's reach, but close enough that I can see his faint stubble and the tiny scar just above his eyebrow. Something from before he was turned, back when he was a human, hundreds of years ago.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he says, sounding enviably certain. “All the Sentinels will protect you. I promise.”

Resignation seeps through me, heavy and chilling. “You can’t promise that, Gavril. No one can. But it doesn’t matter. Seeing what they’re doing… and there’s more like that, isn’t there?”

He hesitates, then says, “Yes. I’ve seen many visions like the one I”—he grimaces—“showed you. Some of them we couldn’t stop in time. And there are others I don’t see. Others we don’t find out about until it’s too late.”

“Right. So I can’t keep hiding here. I should have… I should have said yes when Frederick asked me before. It’s my fault—”

“No.” It’s sharp. Commanding. “It isn’t your fault.”

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