Page 151 of A Bond with the Dark

“Ollie was gone for a while before Sayah saved him,” Hattie replies.

“Just do it, Sayah, save him,” urges Adaline.

“Mom, the mark hasn’t shown up yet.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to risk losing Bash!”

“There,” Dom says, showing them his arm.

The faint crescent moon brand rises on his arm, faintly but enough to give me the green light.

Dom yanks the knife out, and I try to force myself to cry, but my eyes remain dry and unyielding of tears.

Dredging up events of the past few weeks to try and entice the tears as the family watches me, I feel more pressure to cry, and yet the tears will not come to me.

Do they have to be genuine and unbeckoned?

I think of my son, missing him and wanting to return to him.

Is it just the pressure of having to cry on cue?

I think of me having cancer and the baby I had to send back to the heavens to begin chemo.

Deep down, I know the thing that will bring my tears is the memory of my mom, and I don’t want to reopen that raw wound, but the tears aren’t coming on their own.

Closing my eyes, I remember everything about my mama, circulating through memories like a slideshow. Her laugh, the storms, unconditional love, the hard times, my cancer, her health scares, our bond. I think of all of it.

They come.

Tears pool in my eyes and down my face; I wipe the tears away and smudge them into the blood, smearing it over the gaping wound in his chest.

Again, the wound lights up and burns brightly within his skin, but this time, the incandescence scatters throughout his whole body, looking like fireflies that are alive and flittering beneath the surface of his skin. As they flit about, the awful white pallor of his flesh dissipates and returns to the color of apricots. The blood dries up from his nose, mouth, and eyes, and the wound in his chest diminishes and evaporates. Bash wretches forward, eyes alight with that glorious blue, and takes a long, deep, invigorating breath.

“Did it work?” he almost stammers, his voice sounding as though he’d been sucking on cotton.

“Yep,” Dom answers, offering his hand and pulling him up.

40

DARKER SHADES OF DARK

SAYAH

“Once we get the artifact ready,” Adaline says, “I think you two will have to fight again.”

“No problem there,” Bash retorts, brushing off his black jeans.

Dom’s right eye squints in the projectile glare he whips at Bash.

“When will you two be okay with being brothers?” Hattie asks, the annoyance in her voice rising friction in the room.

“Never, apparently,” Bash answers.

“All right,” Adaline interjects, “let’s get somewhere where we can be ready for the grimspawns bound to come along.”

“I didn’t think of that part,” I say, remembering the dread when they entered the room.

“We’ll be ready this time,” Everett responds, arising from the couch.

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