Page 81 of The Mirror in the Mountain

“What—what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

The blade disappeared into nothing, but it was far too late. I knew he had felt my turmoil through the bond, that creeping sense of emptiness.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Why had I been so foolish as to think I could keep this from him?

Bash had gone utterly still as he stared at the space my blade had been, his freckles stark against the pallor of his skin. He reached for me, but I shrank back, stepping away from him. His broad hand engulfed mine before I could get any further.

“Why are you pushing me away?” Bash’s voice was frantic, pleading. “What the hell is going on, Eva?”

I sucked in a shallow inhale. It did nothing to clear the buzzing in my head.

“Please, just forget it,” I said in a last-ditch, futile effort to keep him from this. “I was upset, that’s all.”

But I knew he could feel the maelstrom of emotions I was failing to keep a hold on anymore—the despair deep inside my heart—just as I could feel his growing outrage.

A lump formed in my throat that I tried to swallow down to no avail. I realized too late that his thumb pressed against the frantic pulse of my inner wrist, feeling the frenetic beat of my foolish heart.

Bash’s eyes were dark with shadow as he said in a dangerous tone, “Whatexactly were you about to do with that?”

“Nothing,” I lied sharply, wound so tight I might snap.

The bond between us went taut as I felt his terror at my feigned nonchalance. And I knew he had understood my intent, if not the reason behind it.

My eyes burned; the cracks in my resolve spreading.

I backed away, needing the distance between us again to think straight. To attempt to find a way out of this trap I had set for myself.

Bash took a moment to examine my expression, his anger palpable. Then he slowly came toward me, matching me step for step until my back touched the fabric of the tent—no space left to run. But his touch was infinitely gentle as he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing my eyes to his.

“Let’s try that again. And this time, tell me the truth.”

His eyes were a storm as they fixed on mine. As he searched them for answers, reading me like the words on a page. I knew from his expression he wouldn’t let it go. Nor would he let me get away without telling him the whole story this time.

And it was too hard to pull myself together now that I had started to break.

A traitorous part of me let out a sigh of relief as I breathed, “Whatever it takes.”

His eyes narrowed. I could sense the rolling current of his building anger, the powerful pang of hurt intwined within it.

“Explain.”

I hesitated for a heartbeat, but I knew it was too late to hide any longer. “He took my blood, along with my magic. I don’t remember it…but it would have been easy to do, especially when I was drugged. There were plenty of needle marks.”

Bash’s shadows escaped his hold, roiling around him—betraying the sharp, molten wrath I felt down our bond. But he stayed silent, waiting for me to voice the rest, even as his jaw hardened.

“He used it to link us,” I added miserably. “More than just a link. A powerful sort of bloodbond, to fool the Choosing itself.That’swhat the sprite told me. So…I know exactly how to stop him.” Bash’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m guessing you do too.”

He was too smart not to figure out that if I was bloodbonded to Aviel, then the easiest way to stop him would be to end my own life. To use the link between our lives to kill him before he could hurt anyone else.

I saw the moment the realization hit him. The way his breath hitched as something fractured behind his eyes. He reeled backward, fear flashing across his features before it gave way to outright horror. The blood drained from his face, a visible swallow working its way down his throat before he let out a low, wounded sound.

I had expected anger. Might have managed to steel myself against it if it had been. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the heartbreak curdling across our bond—like I had shoved a blade into his chest and sliced his heart in two.

When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, his voice achingly raw. “I can’t lose you.”

The desperation in his tone crashed into my soul. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

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