Page 75 of Broken

Who’s the crazy one here?

She pauses then shuffles in the covers some. I tense when her leg kicks over my hip, but I know it’s to get closer to me. Out of nowhere, she’s trembling.

“What is it?” I rasp, and concern has me dragging my hand along her arm, both to soothe and to reassure.

“The last woman I helped, it went wrong. I didn’t save her. If anything, I got her killed.”

My eyes flare wide. “What? How?”

“Her husband came for her. He got to her because she was running from me.”

“What did you—” Her tension transmits itself to me. “Oh.” And suddenly, I understand. “The wings?”

“Yes. I told her about them,” she whispers miserably.

“You didn’t show them to her?”

She licks her lips and her tongue accidentally pokes my chest. I know it’s not on purpose because it slips back in as fast as it popped out, not caressing me like she might if she were trying to seduce me.

I wouldn’t put it past her, but still, at this moment, that isn’t her intent.

“I had the tattoo done after she died. Before my surgery.”

“Why?”

“I just needed to. W-When she... she looked at me like I was a freak. I’d been helping her, had spent months building her up to leave her husband, and she treated me like she was escaping one lunatic only to fall into the arms of another.” She shudders. “I went to the doctor. It was the least I could do in her memory. She only died because I terrified her.”

I tighten my embrace around her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You got me through it.”

“I did?” My brain brakes to a halt. “How?”

“At every pivotal point of my life, you’ve been there. When I realized what my calling was. When I failed my first charge, you were on TV. When I helped save Diana, my sister from another mister, you’d just been freed and I saw the news report. Then, when I was diagnosed with the cyst, Diana shared an article about you and your move to Rome. You were along for the ride and you didn’t even know it.”

I could see how, when she was sick, that would make a difference.

But this talk of soul mates?

I sigh, my breath brushing her hair, making the slight scent of rose and vanilla waft around.

It’s stupid and makes me feel like I’m taking advantage because she’s ill, but I press a kiss to her head.

She nuzzles into me, and for a while, we’re silent. I know she isn’t asleep. It’s more like she’s resting her eyes.

After some time, she whispers, “Savio?”

“Yes?”

“I think I need to clean your back again. It’s wet on the sheets.”

I tense then register just how bad the pain is.

It’s odd how I was numb, my body blocked from me as I processed her story.

“I’ll put a shirt on.”

She frowns—I can feel her brow against my chest. “How do you keep this from people?”

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