Page 114 of Tempest

That angers me. “I’ve given you so much slack, Tempest. I’m surprised I’m not mummified. Even after what you’ve told me and being introduced to your terrible memories, no, I won’t tell another soul.” Rising, I brush twigs and leaves off my pants. I’ve given up on my hair. “Your memories are worse than mine, and that’s saying something. I can only be certain your nightmares are worse, too.”

An inscrutable tenseness crosses Tempest’s features before he stands, too. “I sleep just fine.”

“Good to know.” I fold my arms over my chest, cold now that I’m moving. My face is tight and sticky with his cum stains. I couldn’t dry completely, and suddenly, I feel like a fool.

For a brief period, I felt triumphant. Earning information from Tempest was unexpected gold—fool’s gold. Because he’s still a killer, my professors trained him, and this campus is a farce. People die here for reasons only benefiting criminals. Tempest has allowed his sister to enroll here, knowing the dangers. I’m here when all I wanted to do was escape the darkness.

And I ran straight toward it.

Facing him in these grotesque woods, I’m not running when I should be.

“You’re safe,” Tempest says, reading my thoughts. “I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

I nod, then try to walk around him.

He catches me by the crook in my elbow. “Are you all right?”

I’m stunned into silence by his question. I never thought he would care. “Yes.”

“You’re not … seeing things? Feeling unhinged? What you saw back there is similar to—”

“I know what it resembles. And no, I’m not crawling deep inside myself and refusing to come out. I’ve…” Become stronger since meeting you. Understood the cracked pieces of myself better after you stoked those embers into the fire. Drowned in confusion whenever you aren’t nearby because I shouldn’t need a reluctant hitman to heal me.

I’ve become as fucked up as you.

Tempest releases my arm, nodding. “Good. Next time, don’t break into my home thinking you’ll find memorabilia from the boy you knew.”

I glance up at him once more as if in search of the lost boy behind his eyes. He’s not there. This Tempest is harder, hewn sharper, and has given all the softness he can in these secluded woods.

“Believe me, I’ll never take a trip to that cottage again.” Shuddering, I move past him. “Clover will be looking for me. I have to go.”

“You’d better,” he agrees, allowing us space. Then he says to my back, “Because now I’ve tasted your fear, princess, and unfortunately for us both, I fucking love that kind of seasoning on your cunt.”

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