Page 184 of Of Blood and Banes
He shifts his gaze back up to the stars, his hand rigidly still under mine. “She used to tell us the stars were lights of a far off city in the heavens where people went when they passed away...and then she died.” His throat bobs as he fights through the tension in his voice.
My thumb skitters across the back of his hand, slow and gentle. I don’t know why I feel so desperate to make him feel better. Maybe it’s because it’s such a stark contrast against the Darian I know…I feel like he’s a stranger. And I’m just trying to do the right thing for someone who has done all the wrong ones.
He continues, “After my mother was gone, my little sister would stay up for hours looking for movement in the night sky. She’d sometimes fall asleep on the balcony, just waiting. And then one night, she told me about this beautiful streak of light that flared across the sky. That it was our mother, telling her‘I love you.’”
He stops and shakes his head profusely, his gaze falling down to the bottom of the cliff as his breath snorts out of his nose. “It’s a bunch of bullshit, though. I’ve never seen one. I think she was so young she was making it up to make me feel better.”
I remove my hand from his, and instead, grab his chin in my fingers to turn him to look at me. “Love is not bullshi?—”
The words die on my lips. Out across the sky in our peripheral vision a vibrant flash catches our attention. We turn and watch an incandescent trail of light streak across the star-studded sky. My breath is stuck in my chest as the shooting star fades into the black of the night.
Darian stumbles back onto his forearms, his boots kicking at the cliff’s edge as he fights to find his feet, showering rocks down into the valley below.
I reach out for him. “Darian?—”
“I-I’ve got to go,” he croaks, avoiding my gaze as he stands.
“Wait!”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” he growls and quickly walks back toward Nightfort.
I watch him for a moment. Unsure if I should press on or leave him be. My gaze lowers to the ground, where my hand was resting on his. He had been in such a hurry, he left his flask. I snatch it off the ground along with his shackles and head back toward Nightfort.
Anxiety weighs in my stomach like a bag of stones with each step. Now that I released him from his binds, where is he even going to go? My room?
I burst through the door of Cyrus’ old residence room and find Darian gathering his knapsack before he slings it over his shoulder.
He turns his head slightly but not completely looking at me. “Don’t close that door?—”
I close the door, my shoulders falling back against the wood.
“Can you fucking listen for once in your godsdamned life?” He swivels, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me pause.
I flinch, frozen at the spot and unsure how to respond. But I try anyway and hold out his flask. “Look, you left this?—”
“You think I give a flip-flyingshitabout alcohol?” He seems to grow larger as he thunders toward me and snatches the flask out of my hand.
I toss his shackles off to the ground, irritation flaring inside me at the contrast of this callousness in comparisonto our vulnerable moment just minutes before. “What is your problem?”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
He throws the flask at the wall, the glass shattering inside the leather container. I shrink, inching backward and finding myself bracing against the wall. My left hand instinctively dips down to my sword.
He swivels to face me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. His brows are drawn down and tight, chest heaving with each breath as he tries—and struggles—to maintain any semblance of self-composure.
“You! You are my fucking problem!” He prowls forward and stops only inches from me. When he dips his head to stare me in the eyes, his hair falls into his face, strands partially hiding his glare.
His hands seem to move with a mind of their own, accentuating every word with a flick of his wrist and clench of his fingers. “You are so godsdamned infuriating and incredibly fucking foolish. It’s a heavens-sent miracle you haven’t died yet, as it should have happened ten times over at this point. You put so many people in danger, all because you think it’s the morally right choice. You fuck upeverything!”
My fear spikes at the volume of his voice, but my anger simmers beneath the surface. Even if I don’t want to accept it, his brutal truth hits home.
He sweeps the hair out of his eyes and pins it at his templates, tightly, until he slides his hands down his face, his expression still fuming. “And I hateeverythingabout you?—”
“Good, I hate you, too!” I throw back, my eyes narrowing. “You are a massive fucking asshole!”
“Shut up! I’m not done! I hate the way you can’t seem to keep your fucking opinions to yourself. I hate that you can’t seem to recognize when you’re in danger, and when you do, youstill charge in headfuckingfirst! I hate the way you have all this determination despite not wanting to take the help you need from other people. And I can’t fuckingstand,” he screams, “the way your lip pokes out when you’re mad.”
The anger in his eyes swirls into an entirely different emotion, his voice softening, “Or…or the way it quivers when you’re sad…”
