Page 147 of A Sin So Pure

“So, why can’t you tell me?”

I tug the bottle from his grasp. “You’ll kill me.”

“That bad a secret, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You should have a little more faith in me.”

“Says the Unseelie King,” I snort.

And when my eyes cut to his in my periphery, I’m frozen by the vulnerability in those night-like irises of his.

“I’d like to think of you as a friend,” he says. “We’re killing a man together, are we not?”

“Is that what constitutes friendship these days?”

“For us, maybe.” He shrugs, then we both go back to staring at the fire.

The clock on the wall ticks sixty times before I speak again.

“Is it bad that I’m nervous to go back to my room?” I ask.

“To Lust?”

I nod, my lips twisting. “Why do you never call her by her name?”

“Do you want me to call her Imogen?” he asks in turn. “I don’t think she’d want me to.”

“I guess not, then. Forget I asked.”

“But to your earlier point, I don’t think that’s the right question to ask.” Then, he clarifies, “To ask if it’s bad.”

“Then what’s the right question?”

“Do you love her?”

I huff a single, lifeless laugh. “What do you know about love anyway?”

“Far less than you.”

I feel that giddy thread of energy flow through me, the alcohol finally settling in my bloodstream. I push onto my kneesand turn to Silas, sitting back on my heels and quirking a brow at him.

“Weren’t you the one who told me that I’d have to be in love to know if it’s selfish? Or were you just posturing?”

“You caught me.”

“You love Wrath, though.”

His nose scrunches up. “Yes, but it’s the same way you love your Second.”

I hum.

“Were you right?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Is love, at its core, selfish?”

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