Page 43 of Obliterated
Not that I know the first thing about love. But I don’t have any other explanation for it.
I could never have someone that pure. He’s got bite, for sure, and can tear me a new one when he wants, but at his core he’s sweet, and kind, the type who fucking lives for helping people.
He lives to heal. He was made to love.
I live for destruction. I was made to obliterate.
Not that any of it keeps me away. Not that it stops me from showing up on his balcony every day for the last week after I swore to myself I’d go home instead. Lighting up a smoke, pretending it’s casual. Him coming out to sit next to me like he was waiting for it all along, hand slipping onto my thigh, those ocean eyes cutting through me.
Why me?they say.Why trust me? Why let me close when you don’t let anyone else in?
And before I can even think of an answer, I cave. Every single time.
I lean in, he leans up, and the world narrows to that one point where our mouths meet. His lips soft, insistent, pulling more out of me than I mean to give. My hand’s always finding his jaw, his curls, the back of his neck—anywhere I can hold him closer. Hisgasps spill into me like they’re a gift, his moans running straight down my spine and setting me on fire.
Always kissing. Nothing more. Just that edge, just the promise.
I want there to be more. Gods, Iachefor it.
But I need him safe. I need him whole. And wanting both—wantinghimand his safety—feels like it’s going to tear me apart.
Because I’m not safe. Far from it. I’m the monster in the dark, the one people whisper about, the word he himself spat at me. And he wasn’t wrong.
He’s my morality, the key to my humanity. Without him, I’d burn it all down just to watch the flames dance. There’s something he ignites within me, something fragile, almost vulnerable. A whisper in the chaos, grounding me when everything else screams for destruction. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s the line Ican’tcross. The edge of sanity I desperately cling to.
Without him, I’m nothing but a monster unleashed; with him, I’m still a monster, but one that can pretend, just for a moment, to be human.
But I can’t. I can’t cross that line yet. Even though I see the plea in his eyes every night.Take me. Have me. Own me.
I want to answer, want it so fucking bad, but I know what I am… and the monster I am can never have something that good.
So tonight I force myself to stay away. I wait until he’s asleep and drag myself into that damned chair across the room. I smoke and I watch him, his face slack and soft in the shadows. I watch until the moon climbs high, and the Ashleaf burns bitter in my lungs.
Right until the three-tone whistle snaps me out of it, the reason I’m still awake.
Tass.
I crack my head toward the sound, grind out the cigarette, and get to my feet. One last look at Kieran—his hair spilling over the pillow, his hand curled in the sheets on the other side of the bed like he’s holding onto me even in sleep—then I move.
Sami’s already on the balcony to take over watch on my Kieran like I told him to, a weathered novel in his hand. I greet him with nothing more than a nod, because words feel too heavy in my throat right now. I’m not that good at leaving Kieran alone. Even though he’s doing well in training, even though he’s tougher than he looks.
That guy at the bar… there was something off about him. Vile, foul, rotten all the way through. Kieran told me exactly who he was, and I know he’s still out there. Lurking. Waiting for his time. And I’m not taking any chances.
Sami drops into the chair, settling in for the watch while I go.
I jump easily over the balcony, scale down the wall in practiced silence, boots hitting the earth lightly. My ribs still ache, but they’re bruises, mostly. They didn’t break anything. Yes, Noura had Watchers going at me, but they know me. They had the fear of death in their eyes when they worked me over.
As if they knew if they fucked me up too bad, I’d come for them. Which I would’ve and gladly reminded them of. Their fear of me is still greater than their fear of the Council.
I keep to the shadows, moving north beneath the wall until the narrow stairs carved into the stone come into view. A Watcher leans on his spear at the base, greets us with a curt nod.
“Sergeant Skarlatos.”
No questions. No hesitation. He doesn’t ask where I’m going or why, just lets me pass him. That’s how I know fear still works better than loyalty.
Once I’m on the wall, Tass falls into step beside me, grin already tugging at her mouth. “Hey there, loverboy.”
I roll my eyes hard, and fish out one of my smokes, sparking it to life.
