Page 8 of Premonition of Peace

“I almost did,” she sighed, swaying her hips back and forth. “But I was so . . . hurt? Angry? All of the above.”

“And now?” I licked that spot on her neck, and she shivered.

Nat sighed and leaned back, putting her weight on my legs as she created enough distance between us to look at me. “I’m tired,” she admitted. “Tired of fighting, of pushing you away. I don’t want our last moments together to be angry words and?—”

And there it was. The mood killer. Nathalie had already pulled herself away, physically and emotionally, working on how to fix things. Preparing for the worst. My hand slipped out of her hair. I put a finger to her lips, shushing her. “I’m still fighting. There’s still time.”

Her face crumpled into a grimace. “We’re running out of time, Marcel. There’s no amount of glamour or witty remarks that can change that.”

“There really aren’t any options, Nat,” I told her without an ounce of hesitation. “I’ve lived with this for so long now that I’ve thought through everything more than once. But I’m open to suggestion.”

I was dying and I was fucking screwed.

But I would fight that losing battle till the end. For life.For her.

“I thought about trying to turn you into something else,” she said, her eyes straying from mine. “But turning into a vampire ora werewolf is out of the question now. And taking blood from a demon would likely kill you too. You’re too weak.”

I tried not to react like I’d just been punched. No guy wanted to hear how weak he was, especially not from the woman he loved. Even if it were true.

Not that I believed that idea would have worked to begin with, but there was no need to say it. “So that can be marked off the list. Any other ideas?”

“Not really,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m still digging for an answer. If you had told me earlier . . .” She let her voice trail.

Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve—none of it helped us now. But I knew my sunbeam, and her inability to separate what could have been from where we were.

I shook my head. “You’d have been sacrificed by your mother and none of this would’ve mattered in the first place,” I said, my tone firm. “I don’t regret what I did to protect you. I just want the chance to make it up before . . . just before.”

I couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not to Nathalie.

Silence settled in the room and Nathalie tried, but ultimately failed, to hide her terror. It would have warmed my heart if it weren’t so very real for us both.

Try as I might, my hourglass was nearing its end.

“I visited Carissa the other day,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet, “and she attacked me. Not in a Carissa way either. It was super weird, honestly.”

I stiffened as concern and frustration mingled within me. “You should’ve taken me with you,” I said, my jaw clenching. “I could’ve?—”

Nathalie cut me off, smoothing away my concern tracing my lips with her finger. “It’s fine. I had August with me. We left before it got too bad.”

My jaw clenched. I knew she was involved with him. I didn’t like it, but I understood it. That he was there for her, protecting her, helping her—it hurt. It should have been me. Maybe I should be happy that she’d have someone when I left, but all I could bring myself to feel was bitterness. I wasn’t that good or kind or pure. Nathalie was mine, but banging on my chest and making my displeasure known would only make her shut down more. “I’m happy you had him with you.”

“Are you?” she asked, raising her brow in question.

“No. But I can concede it’s better than going alone.”

Nat snorted. “I suppose I should give you points for trying.”

“I’ll take what I can get when it comes to you,” I said, squeezing her hip. The warmth of her beneath my palm calmed my soul.

“Will you, though?” she asked quietly. “You know I’m with him and?—”

“It fucking kills me to say this, so know that now. I love you more than anything in this world or the next. You are the reason I’m fighting. I would give anything for a future with you, even a future where that other fucker exists in your life too. I know he makes you happy, and as much as I loathe that you need more than just me, your happiness matters more. I recognize that you’re trying to move past what broke us, and it’s about damn time?—”

“Marcel,” she said flatly.

“My point is, I fucked up. I broke us. You put the pieces back together without me, so I don’t get to say how they should go. I wasn’t there. I wanted to be. My heart always was. But your reality was that you were alone, and if this is the consequence of that—so be it.”

“I’m not doing it to punish you.”

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