Page 74 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Oh,” she says. “So the scholar doesn’t know everything.”
“Thea.”
“You don’t trust me?”
We share a look, and my breath hitches at the burning hatred in her eyes.
She knows…
She knows I’m planning to take the relic. She must see the awareness come over me because her hatred shifts to a challenge. It’s the same look she had in her bathroom with the crows.
I can take care of myself.
My gaze dips to her neck, where the charm cord peeks from beneath her black, hooded Sinner’s assassin uniform. A part of her still trusts me.
My endorphins battle with the fever, and I swoon. Suddenly I’m done with this. I don’t want to be enemies. I don’t want to do this anymore. This will be my last few hours with her, and I can’t die knowing she hates me.
I thought I could be Judas, but he ended up putting his head in a noose. Nobody won. Where’s the sense in that?
My smile is a white flag… or at least, I think I smile. It might come out more like a baring of teeth. Sweat pops out on my upper lip. Dizziness overcomes me. I stagger forward. The pain in my palms wrenches a snarl from my lips. Thea doesn’t flinch. A pinch at my stomach has me glancing down.
Thea’s fist is there, her fingers wrapped around… my eyes snap back to her face.
“You stabbed me,” I whisper.
“I saw the text messages, Wes, and I can’t let you take the relic,” she replies coldly. “Be thankful I didn’t lace the blade with poison. Or hit any vital organs. You’ll live.”
“You stabbed me,” I repeat, astonished.
I flop forward. Thea catches me like I’m drunk. A couple walking past stop and look.
“Come on, big guy,” she says loudly. “Let’s get you home to rest.”
But she doesn’t take me home. She pulls me into a dark shadowy spot further down the street where no one can see us. I slide to the floor, my back against a wall. Shock must have hit me. I don’t feel anything. Not even cold. Not even pain in my gut. That’s wrong. I should feel something.
But my only ache is when I think of what this will do to her. There’s no demon in me. There’s no rationalizing away this death. She’ll pretend she doesn’t feel the guilt, but then she will go to penance. She’ll blame herself.
“It’s okay,” I say as she props my heavy limbs. “This isn’t your fault.”
She snorts and shoves my backpack to my side, away from anyone who might walk past. I sound arrogant. Bloody fuck, I can’t even apologize properly.
“S’okay,” I mumble, my eyelids falling. My limbs are made of lead. Maybe this is how it should have ended anyway. I didn’t like lying to her, and I didn’t like using her. It ate me up inside more than I care to admit. She’s had enough of that in her life from other people, and she won’t end up like me if she doesn’t take the charm off.
I must have said that last part out loud because she stops after stepping away and turns back.
“What does the charm have to do with ending up like you?” she asks.
“Just going to rest my eyes,” I mumble.
“Wes.”
When I open my eyes again, she’s right before me. This time, she’s not the stone-cold assassin Sinner. She’s the woman who tried to hate me but ended up making love to me. Her expression is fraught with worry. She takes my hand and unwraps the bandage. All it takes is a whiff of the putrid sores beneath, and she gags. She wraps my palms back up, wide eyes landing on mine.
“Wes, what’s going on? What did this to you?”
“Vepar,” I mumble. “She’s been after me for years. I touched her. Sores will be all over me tomorrow, and I’ll die soon. So…” I chuckle softly. “You stabbed a dead man.”
Confusion and panic battle in her eyes. “But you were still going to steal the staff from me. To save Zeke. Even when you knew your fate.”
