Page 73 of The Sorcerer's Thief
“Of course. You’ve been through more trauma than any one person could be expected to bear, twice over now, so yes, I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not important.”
“Shut your mouth.” I kiss him again to be sure he obeys. “Don’t ever repeat that. It isn’t true, and I won’t have you thinking it is.”
“Cricket, I?—”
“Careful, if one bad thing about yourself comes out of that mouth, I’ll flick you right in the nose.” I hold up my fingers to show him I mean business.
Finally, that makes him smile a bit.
A half smile only, but it still counts.
“Cricket, I owe you an apology. I owe you far more than that, but there aren’t words enough to cover my debt. You’re being kind because I’m injured, but you must be mad?—”
“I’m not mad.” This line of thought needs squashing. “And I’m not coddling you with kindness either. I’m kind to you because I like you and because you deserve kindness.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as if my words cause him pain. “You should be angry with me. I think of a thousand reasons why.”
“Well, I’m not.” I touch my fingertips to his eyelids and run them gently over his brows. “Open.”
He looks at me. Emerald eyes watery.
“You’ve never had anyone on your side, have you? You don’t know what it feels like. You don’t trust it. But now you have me, and we will learn about partnership together, all right?”
He murmurs an unconvincing affirmative.
“I don’t have to hold the past against you if I don’t want to, and I don’t want to. You had your reasons. Now you don’t. Let’s be good to each other moving forward.”
“That simple?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t deserve you.”
Nonsense. But he isn’t ready to let it go, and that’s fine. “Then earn me.”
“I will, Cricket. I will. With everything I have.”
This time, when we kiss, it feels right again. Like we fit. Like we will always fit.
I curl into him as though the crescent of his body is made for me, and he wraps his arms around me as though he’ll never let go. We breathe together for a long while. He drops kisses onmy forehead. I nuzzle the bit of his neck that isn’t covered in bandages.
Before sleep can drag me under, curiosity strikes. “Hey, Jules?”
“Hmm?”
I love the way his throat rumbles against my skin. “Whose bloody dagger is in my boot?”
“Oh.” He pulls back, his expression clouding. He takes a deep breath. “It belonged to the Gatekeeper.”
“What?” My eyes threaten to bug out of my head. “The Gatekeeper is your father?”
“Ssh, not so loud, please. And no. Not my father. He’s my uncle.”
