Page 71 of Big Little Spells

Read your favorite dark fairy tale if you don’t believe me.

Maybe these possibilities should matter to me, make me hate this man, but they don’t. Because I have lived with guilt. I have staggered around beneath the weight of the bad choices I made out of hurt and fear and yes, selfishness. I even convinced myself I was the hero, rushing in to save Emerson, when I wanted to prove something.

Even in exile, I make mistakes. And more since I’ve been back home.

I’ve known Nicholas forever, short though my forever is next to his. He’s had a thousand opportunities to actively harm me, and he hasn’t. Embarrassed me, even shamed me and turned his back on me, sure. But he’s never harmed me—though he must have considered it.

There was, after all, a foolproof way to make sure I was never going to be the death of him.

I lean into him, pressing my face against the sleek muscles of his back as I wrap my arms around him. This isn’t the way we touched on the roof or in the bed.

This is another way to see each other. A deeper way of seeing him.

He stiffens, but it isn’t a rejection. The feeling I get is that he doesn’t know what to do with this. With me. With a hug.

One thing we can all agree on, friend and foe alike, is that Nicholas Frost has been alone for a long, long time. I’m sure he’s taken any number of lovers and has interacted with beings of all types in all kinds of ways. But through it all he’s held himself apart. Immortal and alone.

I knew this before I saw all those truths about him.

I know it even better now.

And more, I understand. I know all about exile.

“I am not the man you want me to be,” he grits out, like the words themselves torture him.

“You can’t possibly know the man I want you to be, Nicholas,” I return, my mouth against the skin of his back. He sports no tattoos and yet still I sense them, as if he has spells sunk deep in his skin. “But I can guarantee you I’m not looking for a saint.”

He laughs, and the world doesn’t end at the sound, likely because it’s sharp and bitter. He turns, then holds me away from him. When he lets go, he puts space between us, but all I see is the longing to come back to me. I hold on to that.

“In too many centuries to count I have been the opposite of a saint,” he says, and though his voice is rough, matching that laugh, his blue eyes burn. “I know you’ve seen parts of my past I would not have shared willingly. And so you know that I have killed. Not once. Not even a hundred times. There is more blood on my hands, the stain of it deep in my bones, than a thousand peaceful lifetimes could ever wash away.”

I can tell he wants to shock me, so I refuse to be shocked. “We’ve all made mistakes. You’ve simply had a lot longer to make far worse ones.” I don’t look away. I look straight at him. Into him. Into the past I saw and the future I wish I could see. The future I can admit I want, with him. I let him see all of that. “I’m not afraid of the monsters inside you, Nicholas. I’m not afraid of your mistakes. I’m not afraid of any part of you, dark or light.”

It sounds like a spell. I wish it was. Some love magic to make him melt before me, or rush to sweep me into his arms...but Beltane can only do so much.

Something else seems to crack open in me, and I breathe it out like a sigh. “Nicholas. I—”

But it’s like he knows what I might say. Or fears it. He draws himself up, and he’s less the lover I found here tonight, and far more the fiercely disapproving ancient who has always looked down on, well, everything.

Too bad I still find that hot.

“Go home, Rebekah,” he says, infusing those words with the sort of authority that should flatten me. “To your friends. To your family.”

Whatever I’ve found here tonight—the chinks in his armor, the truths he never wanted to tell, him—I can sense I’ve pushed as far as I can. The next step will be him claiming this was all nothing but Beltane magic, and then I’ll have to hurt him.

Maybe retreat is the better part of valor here. At the very least, I need to catch up with the others. To check on Ellowyn. To tell them that my visions are restored and more, what I’ve seen awaiting us. Because it isn’t only about me. It won’t be only my successes or failures, my triumphs or grief. It will be all of ours. We’re all linked.

We stopped a flood. We took a step toward something.

Nicholas too, whether he likes it or not.

Maybe giving him his immortal space is smart in this moment. But I’m not admitting defeat. “This isn’t over.”

He pauses so long I can’t help but hold my breath. I could seek out a vision here. I could look at all the possibilities for Nicholas and me, but I...don’t want to. I’m not sure any vision I could have of our future would bring me clarity or comfort.

It almost feels like the easy way out, and that’s not us.

His gaze softens as he looks at me, making my unusual restraint here worthwhile. He sighs. “No. It isn’t over.”

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