Page 40 of A Bond with the Dark

“Well, thank you.”

“You have been through some unimaginable pain, and yet you have this aura about you—you’re stunningly beautiful and able to shine through it all. You don’t have this poor-me attitude; you have a let-me-tell-you-how-my-story-makes-me-stronger vibe. I dig it. Very much.”

“I’m so glad you think so. Sometimes I feel as if I’m not strong at all.”

“Sometimes strength isn’t always depicted in muscles, steely words, and inerrant resolves. Sometimes it shows itself within the softer corners of you—the way you weaken with other people’s pain or sit and laugh with the beautifully broken. The way you show up each time the world knocks you down or by the way you feel so deeply for people who you hurt when they do. That is strength. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Sayah. And I have known a lot of people.”

I offer him the sweetest smile I can muster.

“I’m so glad you decided to come out with me,” he utters, his eyes blazing like torches in a medieval castle. “I’m having a great time.”

“Me too.”

“So,”—he grins, taking a sip of his bourbon—“what do you like to do for fun?”

The rest of the dinner is spent laughing about lighter topics, balancing out the dark that had taken over the first half of our date.

We talked of Gauge’s first word being shit and how he said “gonkies” and “warsies” instead of monkeys and horsies. He told me anecdotes about growing up with so many siblings and the pranks they all used to play on each other. We laughed more in the second half of the date than we did all evening.

Outside, after dinner, the sky is midnight purple with bright stars scattered across the heavens. The moon shines like a broken ornament in the sky, casting a silver luster over the world. Christmas lights hang in all the trees, making the square feel magical.

“Wanna walk with me?” he asks as we climb the stairs from the basement restaurant.

“Sure,” I answer, taking his hand as he leads me toward the square.

“It’s pretty here,” he says, his eyes alight with the city’s beauty.

“It is. I love how they leave the Christmas lights up til spring. It just makes it magickal.”

“Fitting for a magickal being such as yourself.”

Again, my heart flutters. The rhythmic sound of his voice is alluring to me, and even though it’s an American accent, the way he makes it sound is sexy. Every syllable he uses seems to draw me into him, enticing me into this force field that emanates around him.

As we walk, I take in the magical allure of the city and just enjoy holding hands with another human again. The place where he touches my hand is warm and has a slight buzzing, but I’m not sure if that’s from it being a little chilly outside and my hands cold.

We stop in the square and watch the band playing some jazzy little tune, the people dancing and smiling, and the city’s ambiance decorates us entirely.

He turns to face me. “I want to see you again,” he whispers softly, his face edging closer to me with every breath.

I usually don’t kiss men on first dates, but he would be an exception.

“I want to see you again, too.”

“And again, after that. And again, after that. And again.” He is pulling me closer to him, his fingers interlacing with mine. He pulls my palm up to his lips and kisses it, not letting go of our eye contact.

The beat of my heart is racing, and these magical little butterflies are surfacing to gather around my throat. I’m scared to kiss him because first kisses are usually awkward, but I try not to overthink it too much.

He’s just about to my lips when his head cocks sideways as though he hears someone say his name in the distance.

“What is . . .”

“Hold on,” he mutters, listening for whatever he’d heard.

Suddenly, his eyes are on mine, and a feeling of dread spreads over me, then it’s gone.

Minutes later, and I don’t know when we got here because I don’t remember walking this far, we’re sitting on a bench in a small park on the outskirts of the square. It’s like waking up from a dream where you’re trying to grasp at the fading memory of it, but that only makes it disappear faster.

Dominic is next to me on the bench. “Are you all right?” he asks, his dark brows knitted together in a combination of concern and guilt.

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