Page 6 of Premonition of Peace

MARCEL

The waterfrom the showerhead pounded against my skin, the hot spray doing little to alleviate the deep, relentless ache in my bones. I leaned heavily against the cool tile, letting the water run over me, trying to will the pain away. Gods, it hurt like hell. Everything did at this point.

I tried hard not to show it, especially around Nat, but this shit was breaking me. Had been for a long time now. She had enough to worry about without adding my suffering to the list. In moments like this though, when I was alone, it was impossible to ignore. The mask I wore for her and for the world dissipated, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. It was getting harder and harder to push through the pain.

I loved Nat more than anything. She believed she could find a solution, but I knew better than to pin a single hope on that. She wasn’t the first to try and so far, luck was never on my side. This affliction—this curse—had no cure. My magic was eating my body alive from the inside out. I was dying, closer and closerto crossing the veil every day and I was trying like mad to accept it. But it was hard. So damn hard.

There was still so much I felt needed to be done, especially with Nathalie. She finally knew about my past, my sickness, about her mother’s manipulations. She knew about the way I had been forced into situations against my will. She knew thetruthnow. Which meant I finally could move past it with her. But to do that I needed time, and time was the one thing I didn’t have.

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, I braced my hands against the walls and steadied myself before I was ready to get out. Turning off the water, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I pressed my teeth together, pointedly ignoring the man in the mirror. I barely recognized him.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

I pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants that hung a little looser around my waist than normal. The knocking continued fiercely, and I sighed as I pulled my glamour around me, letting it settle over me like a sheen of oil. Uncomfortable, for certain, but familiar at this point. I’d worn it for so long, I didn’t even know how to fully feel like myself without it.

“Coming,” I called, lumbering for the door with stiff joints. When I peeped through the eyehole, I saw Nathalie standing there wearing dark jeans and a tightly fitted Nine Inch Nails t-shirt. I wasn’t familiar with the band, but that didn’t mean much. She enjoyed every genre of music, and I couldn’t keep up.

“Nat, hey,” I greeted, trying to sound less out of breath. “What can I do for you?” I lifted an arm to lean against the doorframe. My glamour shifted, showing the muscle I should have had in my biceps. Nat’s light brown eyes flicked toward it for a fraction of a second then back down, her cheeks turning a shade pink.

“Hey, Marcel, um . . . is August here?”

“No,” I said, my voice a little harder than intended. I fixed my tone before I continued. “I can tell him you came by?—”

She shook her head, a slight look of relief crossing her face when she cut me off. “No, I’m here to see you. I was just, uh, curious if he was around. There’s a lot going on with Sasha right now.”

“Oh . . .” I tried not to let the fact that she wasn’t here to see him please me too much. I wasn’t dumb. I knew I had a hill to climb, greater than the other guys vying for her attention. But I would be damned if I gave up before the grave took me.

She looked at me with an amused expression. “You gonna let me in or . . .?”

I stepped to the side, and she moved past me, giving me a hint of her jasmine and lilac scent. Closing the door, I followed behind her, unable to stop myself from watching the sway of her hips. It was impossible to forget what that ass felt like clutched in my hands as I pinned her to the shelves in her parents’ library, fucking her like I owned her. I did. Past tense.

The thought bothered me more than almost anything because I would give anything to own her again.

“What’s up?” I asked as we sat on the cushions across from each other. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, but you look tense.”

And she did. There was a stiff set to her shoulders and a stormy look to her gaze that I couldn’t make sense of. She looked at me, guarded, as we sat across from each other on the couch. Repressing a groan, I uncomfortably adjusted in the seat.

“Nothing that we need to get into right now,” she said quickly, changing topics before I could speak. “We need to talk about your condition.”

“I’d rather not and say we did,” I retorted sarcastically, before sobering.

“You’re wearing a glamour,” she said.

I shrugged, running a hand through my hair. “I always wear a glamour.” Especially around her.

“I need you to drop it so I can see how you really are.”

I stiffened. “I don’t think that’s necessary?—”

“If I don’t know how you’re progressing, I can’t help you, Marcel.”

My lips pressed together. I fought internally over whether I should drop it. She had a point, but . . .

“Please,” Nat whispered softly. “Let me in. I won’t judge?—”

“I’m not worried about your judgement.” I was worried about her pity. The way she looked at me the first time I’d dropped my glamour was burned into my memory, and I hated it. My sunbeam had a bleeding heart, even if she’d learned to encase it in steel. I didn’t want her to see me this weak. A mere shadow of my former self. A husk.

“Then what? I’ve already seen you . . .” She stopped as understanding crossed her features. “Marcel . . . it’s okay.”

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