Page 160 of Kissed By the Gods
He stays firmly on the other side of the door. “I don’t know if I should. Do you want me to go wake up Nyrica? So you’ll have a friend?—”
“I don’t have a bone to pick with Nyrica,” I snap at him.
He hesitates at the threshold.
“Get. In. Side.” I growl at him, and I think the aggression in my voice takes us both a little by surprise. He’s normally the growly one.
He crosses the threshold, and I slam the door closed with more force than necessary. It feels good, so I keep going.
I spin, facing him.
“What’s going on with you and Rissa?”
The look on his face is pure confusion.
“What do you mean?” He asks. “She came to Selencia with me, and we rode here together.”
I laugh, but it’s brittle and sharp. "Yeah. I noticed. She’s been glued to your side.”
He frowns, that confusion still furrowing his brow. “She’s my?—”
“Your what?” I cut in, voice rising. “Your past? The one who actually belongs in your world?”
Anger sparks in those beautiful, storm-wracked eyes. He takes two measured steps forward until there’s barely space for breath between us. “No onebelongs in my world, Leina,” his voice low and wrecked. “Or have you forgotten the vows we take? We bleed for gods who demand everything. We swear to serve until there’s nothing left of us …”
He’s vibrating now, but I don’t think it’s with rage. I think it’s withrestraint. He lifts a hand, slowly, as if he’s afraid I’ll flinch or draw away and he’s giving me that chance. And maybe I should. Maybe I should run from this man, a weapon wrapped in flesh. But I don’t.
Not when he cups my cheek with calloused fingers like I’m something sacred. Not when he lowers his forehead to mine with a kind of aching gentleness that doesn’t belong to warriors.
His eyes are desperate when they search for mine.
“Butfuckthe gods,” he whispers. “Fuck the Synod. Fuck the throne and every cursed thing that’s come from it.”
His thumb brushes under my eye. I hadn’t realized I was crying.
“You don’tbelongin my world. Leina, youaremy world.”
My breath catches, and a sob escapes. My fingers tighten in the links of his chainmail, and I lower my head to his chest. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He simply lets me break.
“I was surviving fine without you,” I finally get out between sobs. His arms wrap around me, holding me tighter even as I fall apart.
“That’s because you’re the strongest person I know,” he says, voice rough against my hair. It’s meant to comfort, to lift me up. But it breaks something in me instead. I cry harder. No more walls, no more masks. Only the ugly, aching truth spilling out in heaving sobs I can’t hold back anymore. When this round of grief passes—this time for the little girl who shouldn’t have had to be strong—and I can speak again, I pull back so I can see him.
“I’m so tired of surviving,” I whisper. “And I’m scared—gods, I’m scared—because the moment I stop fighting, I don’t know who I’ll be underneath it all.”
He grips my face gently, but his eyes blaze with violence. “Then let’s find out,” he murmurs. “Let’s find out who you are when you’re not surviving. I’ve spoken with Rissa and with the Elder, and they both agree King Agis needs to be deposed. We accomplished what we needed to do here. Tomorrow, we fly back to Edessa and free your people, Leina.”
My heart stutters—stutters—at the hope shining so brightly in his eyes. The moonlight makes him look almost soft.
I step into him, and cup his cheek. I rub my fingers on the shredwhip scar that cuts down the side of his face. “Do something for me?” I ask him.
His answer is immediate. “Anything.”
Gods,I love him. I love this man.
And that scares me more than death demons or draegoths.
I smile, barely. “Drop your shields.”
