Page 125 of Visions of Darkness

My limbs felt as if they were steel poles, immoveable and heavy, and the fatigue made me sluggish and slow, even though I felt a milliontimes better than I had when I’d fallen asleep shortly after Pax had tended to my wound, then covered me in a fresh T-shirt.

His care had been stark.

His tenderness at odds with the ferocity that vibrated beneath his skin.

And his understanding ... It was there, though I knew it was underscored with his own fear of the choices I had made, as if he wished he could protect me from who I was but knew it would be absolutely wrong to try to stop me.

It made it really difficult when I didn’t understand any of this, either. The burn on my chest plagued me.

How I could have sustained it.

What it meant.

Pax pushed from the bed and came over to gather the container and my napkin. Gray, tumultuous eyes flicked toward me every few seconds, like he was worried I might disappear.

“You don’t have to take care of me like this,” I told him.

I shivered when his fingertips were suddenly on my face and running down my jaw. “Yes, I do.”

Our connection shimmered. Brighter than ever, though it glowed with a current of dark.

Of a need that whispered of our desolation.

We were up against the impossible.

Hunted.

Forbidden.

My spirit stirred against it.

In a revolt that shouted that was what was really impossible.

Not loving this man.

How could I not? Not when he’d been everything to me for my entire life.

“Thank you.”

His head barely shook, his voice shards as he tossed everything into a plastic sack. “I would do anything for you, Aria. And I need you toknow that you don’t need to lie to me the way you did. I’ll support you no matter what. I understand your need to protect those around you, so please do it with me at your side.”

My nod was shaky. “Okay.”

He turned, his hewn, sinewy body moving through the small space. He tossed the used paper bag inside the small trash bin; then he edged over to the window and checked outside again.

I couldn’t look away as he moved through the confined walls within the room.

He wore a tight black tee that stretched across his shoulders and back, the muscles defined and rippling. The tattoos seemed to come alive over his scarred flesh, visions of darkness that crawled and slithered with each movement he made.

My throat went dry.

He seemed to waver before he finally turned back to me. Hesitation brimmed in the savage lines of his face. Uncertainty of where we were supposed to go from there.

“Will you lie with me?” I whispered into the tension that strained between us.

“Aria . . .”

It was a warning.

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