Page 72 of Reckless
He drags himself fully over the grate, breathing heavily at the sky. His head turns to the side, eyes studying me intensely. He coughs before choking out, “I’m shocked you even bothered to try.”
I nod slowly, allowing what I’ve done to settle in. “It’s a regret I’ll have to live with.”
We watch each other, his gray eyes unwavering. It feels different, this look. The look of two people who now share another secret. Nothing has changed between us, and yet, nothing will ever be the same again. The things Death made us say, the kiss we shared thinking it was our last, can never be undone.
I’ve already failed twice at resisting him, and I won’t let it happen again.
Hopefully.
He is my enemy, my captor, my escort toward death. I will not let him also be my weakness. Not again.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice gruff. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“Apparently, neither do you,” I say softly, fingers brushing my lips subconsciously. His smile is swift, distracting one moment, then gone the next.
I look away, feeling annoyingly bashful. Wet hair is plastered across my face, and I take my time wringing out the strands. I ignore the very tangible feel of his gaze on me and focus instead on calming my breathing, stilling my shaking body.
I hesitate before lying down beside him. “Thank you, too.” My voice is quiet. I fold my hands over my stomach, feeling suddenly conscious of the fact that I could easily reach out and touch him. “You saved me first.”
He gives me a weak laugh. “I’m shocked you even admitted that.”
I roll my eyes at the pink clouds above us. Then I sigh, spinning the slippery ring on my thumb. “Lenny would be calling me a cockroach if he were here.”
“A cockroach?” He turns his head to look at me. “I mean, I’ve been called far worse, but—”
“I’m sure you have,” I cut in. “Specifically by me.”
His laugh is tired. “That I have.”
I’m quiet for a moment, content to feel him watch me as I stare at the sky above. “He says I somehow always manage to survive. Lenny, that is. Though I’m still deciding whether that’s a gift or a curse.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “If I were a different man, a better man, I might tell you that surviving is always a gift. But”—he chuckles darkly—“you and I both know that I’m not. And that I know better than most that surviving is sometimes more painful than death.”
I nod slowly. Of course he would understand. He always does. “I am glad I survived this time, though. That was not how I’d planned on dying.”
There’s a serious sort of humor coating his voice. “You’ve planned your death?”
“I’ve planned myidealdeath.” I shrug. “I was born to die. And when you spend your whole life running from the inevitable, you think a lot about the end. I guess you could say I have a preference.”
He’s silent for several heartbeats. “And what preference would that be?”
“What, taking notes for when the king orders you to kill me?” I laugh lightly as though the thought hasn’t kept me up at night. But I rush on, not waiting for his response. “I want an end like those I loved most. Stabbed through the chest with a smile on my face.”
“Paedyn…,” he starts softly.
“That’s what I want,” I say flatly. “I want to feel what they felt. I want to feel like I’m with them one last time while I’m still alive.”
“That’s… admirable, in its own, twisted way.” He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating something. “And I’m sorry I was the first to start that pattern.”
I’m suddenly sitting up, turning away from him. I wish he hadn’t said that, hadn’t apologized for being the first to stab someone I loved. I wish he had known it was my father who was his first mission. I wish he had lied. It would make hating him so much easier.
“Do you have a preference in how you die?” I ask, avoiding his apology.
“I’ve never thought about it.”
I snort. “Of course you haven’t. Because people like you don’t expect to die anytime soon.”
“Maybe,” he says softly. “Or maybe I’m just trying to ignore the fact that I’m not immortal.”
