Page 72 of In Death's Hands
No. After everything that’s happened to me, I imagine the worst. The vision of him lying on the floor bleeding out in that cave haunts my mind. I run to the bathroom, to the door that is still closed.
Nothing. Not even a speck of dust moved.
I’m about to run out the door and find someone to alert, anyone to help me find him, when I see three figures sitting on the beach under the moonlight.
My breath leaves my body in a rushed exhale. Hurt blooms deep inside me. All the heat he brought, he stole right back. Leaving me feeling colder than I ever did.
I curse him. Loudly.
There I was, so stupidly scared for him, when he justran. He ran from me.
I don’t care that a small part of me is happy to see him getting closer to Turan and Atys when he seems to be so alone all the time. I squash the wonder and replace it with burning-hot rage.
“How dare he?” I yell in the empty room, quickly wrapping the flag around myself again. How dare he make me feel those things and then run?
Now that he’s safe, the smart thing would be to go to sleep and forget about the whole thing. Taking the high road and shit, right?
Well, I’m not fucking built for the high road. Low road all the way.
I open the door and let it crash against the wall as I barrel down the hallway and the numerous stairs. I don’t feel anything other than this fire in my heart.
How dare he kiss me,touchme like that, and then disappear. I wonder for a second if I did something wrong, if it was too fast and I somehow pushed him to do something he wasn’t comfortable with. But no, he was as desperate as I was. As in control, if not more so, than I. He chose this. And then chose to let me crash into the emptiness he left in his wake. If he regretted what he did, if he didn’t want more, he could have told me so. I’m not a fucking child. I’m a grown-ass woman who’s about to kick his Origin ass.
I catch a few raised eyebrows and ignore all of them as I fly through the remnants of the party. It seems quieter now. At least, the music is lower and the lights are softer, but the moans and giggles seem to have taken a life of their own.
I walk and walk and keep walking through the sand, ignoring how nice the soft grains feel, until I reach their merry little group.
Well, as merry as a group with Nathan can be since I swear I can feel him frowning while Turan and Atys chuckle mercilessly next to him. No doubt at Nathan’s expense.
“You dick-wit,” I seethe.
Nathan jumps to his feet, facing me instantly but refusing to meet my eyes. I scoff.
“Hey, Liv.” Atys greets me smoothly as he gets to his feet and offers his hand for Turan to follow suit. I ignore him and his little smirk, instead pinning my stare on Nathan’s face, willing him to justlookat me, to say something, anything that would explain his callous behaviour. But nothing comes.
“Come, Atys, I have a sudden craving for some of Cook’s spicy mango sake.”
I throw Turan a grateful look as she unceremoniously drags Atys away.
“Fine, rum will do,” he sighs. “Although this seemed more interesting.” I hear a yelp and then Atys grumbling about Turan’s violent ways but stay focused on Nathan. Who still says nothing.
“Why?” I ask, ignoring the way my voice cracks.
“I’m sorry,” he answers tightly, still avoiding my eyes.
“You’re sorry? You’resorry?” Is he serious? “How dare you!” I don’t notice I’ve moved forward until I’m a hair’s breadth away from him. The moonlight deepens the shadows of his face, creating hollows and valleys I would love to lose myself in. I close my eyes against the onslaught of him, against the unfairness of his beauty.
I feel the breath he releases dance across my own face, and fight against the images of his mouth on mine that it brings back with the force of a hurricane.
“I know. I made a mistake. P-please, forgive me.”
He sounds earnest. When I open my eyes, helooksearnest, with his shiny black eyes finally fixed on me. So why is my heart still in pain? Why do I have to tighten my fists to stop them from shaking?
“Why?” I ask again despite knowing better. I shouldn’t ask questions I don’t want answers to. He left. He may be sorry now, but he still left. I know I deserve to know why, but I learned long ago that one rarely gets what one deserves.
He lets out a rough laugh, looking away again as he rakes his hand through his hair. “I wish I could give you a better reason than ‘because I was dying to’, but I’m afraid I can’t. I lost control. It won’t happen again.”
“Wait, what?”
