Page 177 of The Devil's Thorn
I paused. Then looked away again. “She became the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother. At least, the kind I might’ve had if—” My voice cut off, but I don’t need to finish. He knows.
He didn’t mock the sentiment. Didn’t throw it back in my face like I expected. He just studied me in silence for a moment longer.
“You let her close,” he finally said.
“She earned it,” I answered. “And I don’t give a damn if that makes me weak.”
He shifted slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. Not amusement. Not condescension. Something closer to understanding. But darker.
“I don’t think you’re weak,” he said. “I think you’re dangerous because you can still care. That’s what makes people unpredictable.”
I blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling now. I don’t know if that was a compliment or a warning. Probably both.
He leaned back on his palms, stretching out beside me just slightly, his presence still heavy even when relaxed. My eyelids began to grow heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.
The adrenaline is gone now. The fire cooled to embers. But the pull between us remained. It always did.
His voice broke through the quiet again. “Is she the only person who knows the truth about your parents?”
I nodded slowly. “Bits and pieces.”
Another silence falls. This one doesn’t feel as sharp.
My body softened into the mattress, eyes fluttering once before I fought them back open. “I don’t sleep either,” I whispered.
I don’t know if he heard me. But I felt his eyes still on me as I slowly let the darkness fold around the edges of my vision, the moonlight kissing my skin like a quiet promise.
The silence between us stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. Not anymore. It felt full—of all the things we didn’t say, all the ghosts we let hover in the room instead of banishing them.
Then, his voice again, low and calm, but like smoke curling around the edges of a fire. “You know… you’re too similar to me.” He said it like a confession. Like a curse.
I blinked slowly, turning my head just enough to look at him, even as my body sank further into the mattress. His gaze didn’t waver.
“I’m nothing like you,” I murmured.
One corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smirk. Not quite anything.
“You are,” he said. “You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
I huffed, barely a breath. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”
“I think I know what it looks like when someone tries to bury their pain deep enough to forget it’s still alive.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t snap back. Not this time. Instead, I turned my body slightly toward him, my arm curled under my head. The words left me before I could stop them.
“Diavolo.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but I saw the flicker of something else. Something darker.
Recognition. And a spark of pride.
“You calling me the devil now?” he said, voice thick with amusement.
“If the horns fit,” I replied, a sharp smile playing on my lips.
He chuckled once, under his breath. “You speak like someone who’s danced with him before.”
“I didn’t dance,” I whispered. “I survived.”
