Page 48 of Ringmaster
“Youhaveto.” I plead, trying to be the rational one. Even as the words leave my mouth, my heart rebels, screaming for him to stay just a little longer. Just one more minute to memorize his voice.
“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined falling asleep with you in my arms, safe, Mercy?” he whispers.
“As many times as I’ve fallen asleep with the marigold to my nose—inhaling its scent and dreaming you come to whisk me away, safe and sound, forever.”
“Fuck.” He mutters. “You have no idea how many times I stopped myself. How many times I forced myself to turn around.”
I kiss him. I have no other reply. My heart shatters in the best way as it swells full of emotional longing. If he says he loves me, I might fall apart. I might say it back. And that would make this real.Tooreal. Why can’t I stop falling for him? It’s only going to make leaving him hurt more.
Sensing my emotional shift, Azrael pulls back—drawing short, quick breaths as he slows. His racing heart thudding against my hand pressed to his chest.
“I should have rescued you sooner. I failed you,” he says, cupping my cheek gently.
I reach up, caressing his jawline, and he leans into my touch. “It’s okay, Azrael. You didn’t fail me. I wasn’t ready, but I am now.”
“I’ll spend every day making up for it, I promise. I—” He stops himself.
Just say it,I think, as he presses his lips to mine softly.
I close my eyes, inhaling his scent, memorizing everything about this moment to get me through the next few days. My body already aches with emptiness, knowing we’ll be so far apart. He exhales my name like a promise. I rest my forehead against his, letting my lashes brush his cheek. This moment could be everything. This could be goodbye. I intend to make every second count from now on.
I part my lips, swiping my tongue against his. He submits to me—rendering himself at my mercy, allowing me to take from him exactly what I need.
Breaking through the silence and the shadows, a gruff voice calls from the edge of the orchard. “Hey, you! What the hell do you think you’re doing with Jacob’s daughter”
Whatever he wants,I think, choosing instead not to answer in hopes that silence might convince the man he has the wrong person. But that might be hard—considering I’m in my orchard, picking my fruit trees.
Azrael clenches his teeth. Anger ripples off him so thick his inky black tendrils swell in agitation.
“Go inside the house. Don’t turn around and look back. Walk inside and pretend you can’t hear anything—even if he shouts at you. Can you do that for me?” he asks, searching my eyes for an answer.
“Azrael, what are you going to do?”
“Don’t think about that. I want you to promise you’ll walk inside, and you won’t look back. Please, Mercy,” he begs.
“Okay,” I relent, fighting the urge to argue with him. I know whatever he’s going to do is bad, and it’s all to keep me safe.
His thumb drags over my lips. “That’s my girl,” he smiles. “I promise. I’ll come back to tell you goodnight later. Leave your window unlocked.”
My mouth gapes open in surprise.
“Trust me.” He presses one last kiss to my lips before I walk to the house.
When I reach the porch steps, my hand hovers near the banister, shaking from the heavy weight of the silence behind me. My entire body aches to turn around. I fight off the overwhelming desires to check, to watch, toknow. I swallow hard, then walk through the door—back to where Azrael banished me to safety.
Inside, I fight the urge to run to the window. I wouldn’t be able to see that far into the orchard, but the ridiculous obsession with the unknown still lingers. I’m desperate to see what he does to the man. But deep down, a flicker of understanding reminds me: Azrael has, without a doubt, issued a death sentence—just for someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I take a hesitant step back toward the door, but I’m met with an invisible resistance, as if something won’t allow me to break my promise. What would I do—beg him to spare the man, knowing it means certain doom for me? Defeated by my own moral compass and the celestial rules obviously preventing me from breaking my end of the bargain, I let it go.
Or so I thought. Without any sort of explanation, the hair on my arms stands on end. A shiver rolls over my body. My magic rises to meet the sudden and overwhelming anger attempting to extinguish its flame. I try to block it out by taking deep, calming breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth—but continuous waves of rage slam into me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to cut off every one of my senses… but instead of darkness, flashes of images fill my mind.
I force them to slow… and instantly regret it. A man screaming. Shadows wrapping around his throat like ropes. Azrael’s hands—or maybe claws?—black and twisted. His eyes—empty, like a void.
I jolt back, gasping. It wasn’t real. Itcouldn’tbe real.
Screams—horrifying, bone-deep screams—fill my ears. Are they real or imagined? I don’t have time to think. More images surge into my mind: blood spraying, flesh flying, shadowy tendrils writhing. I blink a few times, trying to banish them. Dropping to the floor, I press my head between my knees as nausea pulses through me.
My lip trembles. I’ve got to get my mind off this. My imagination is running wild. I crawl to the kitchen on my hands and knees. My stomach threatens to empty onto the floor, but I make it. I hoist myself up, grab the cleaning bucket, take a long breath, and force myself to focus on the chores.
