Page 112 of Realm of Nightmares
“And I told you I can handle myself,” Maeve snapped, matching his anger.
Something in Rowan ignited.
He grabbed her shoulders, yanking her close, then shoved her back against the wall, pinning her in place. Shock slammed into her and in the back of her mind, she registered Cahira’s low, menacing growl. Rowan’s grip tightened. “You could have died.”
“Yet here I am,” she countered icily, refusing to be coerced into an admission of guilt.
“Would you quit the righteous bullshit?” Emotions swirled in his eyes. Vexation. Frustration. Perhaps even relief. “Why didn’t you come to me? I could’ve helped you.”
“Because, Rowan. Because this was something I needed to do by myself.” She pushed her hands against his chest, shoving him away from her, putting distance between them. When she stalked over to the other side of the room, closer to the roaring hearth, he didn’t follow. “Because the last thing I want to do is spend more time with you under false pretenses. Because I don’t want to break your heart…again.”
“This isn’t about me and my feelings for you.” He raked a hand through his deep teal hair, pacing the length of the room. He expelled a heavy sigh, then whipped back around. “This is about you being reckless. This is about you thinking, for some ridiculous reason, that you still have to prove yourself to everyone.”
“That’s not true, I—”
But he cut her off before she could defend herself. “Yes, it is. How many times have you told me everyone is relying on you? That theyneedyou?”
He smiled but it was cruel. Calculated. “A lot of good it will do them, or anyone for that matter, if you’re dead.”
She hated that he was right. Hated that yes, she’d said all those things. But it wasn’t an exaggeration. It was the truth. All of it. Her gaze slid to the hearth, where flames sparked, popping and cracking with life.
“Look at me.” Rowan’s voice was softer this time, and she gradually lifted her eyes to him. “I’m the Nightweaver. Darkness to your light. Destruction to your creation. And I’m here. I’m right fucking here.” He spread his arms wide and his shadows rescinded. “Let me help you.”
“I can’t.” Maeve ducked her head once more, grateful when her long, loose curls fell around her, shielding her from his judgment.
“Why not?” Exasperation hung on the words.
“Because the longer I stay here, the longer I’m with you, the more…”
“The more, what?” he asked, stepping closer.
It was a critical weakness, admitting she was losing her memory. She could tell him, she could confide the truth of her fears, of her worries. But Rowan had already divulged his feelings for her, confessed his love for her. If he knew she was losing her memory, would he take advantage of such knowledge? It was a contemptible thought to consider, and shame filled her, coloring her cheeks the moment the notion entered her mind.
“Nothing,” she mumbled weakly.
Moments of tense silence stretched between them. Finally, Rowan spoke. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Maeve held her tongue.The look on his face was worse than contempt or disdain, it was one of disappointment.
“Very well.” He tugged on the collar of his gray shirt, recognizing the level of distrust between them. “If you don’t need my help…”
“There is something.” The words spilled from her before she could stop them. “I need to find a book.”
He made a derisive noise. “Of course it’s a book you need.”
Maeve ignored the disparaging remark. “Vow of the Guardian, have you heard of it?”
Rowan nodded. “I have.”
“And do you know where I can find it?”
“I do.”
She waited, expectant.
“The real question is,” Rowan paused, his lavender eyes roving over her with blatant curiosity, “why do you need it?”
“I don’t.” Maeve glamoured away her leather armor, then carefully rolled the sleeve of her cotton blouse, revealing the Strand on her forearm. “Laurel does.”
