Page 86 of Broken Souls
My jaw locked, I say, “Turn around.”
“Fuck you.”
I dart behind her, using my enhanced speed now that she already knows I’m not a witch. She tries to turn, but I’m much faster, and I glance her body over. Red hand prints mar her ass. More bruises dot along her body, but there isn’t anything outside of love bites and grabs. Whatever I did last night, at least it wasn’t overly violent.
“How many secrets are you fucking hiding?” she asks as she spins back to face me, but I don’t answer because my eyes have caught sight of her pussy.
She hasn’t just shaved it to piss me off. She’s fucking cut a patch away. And my heart breaks at the bareness of her skin, at the lack of the ink that I put there. The physical rejection of my claim.
Wails ricochet inside my skull, growing in pitch until they become banshees that wash out all other noise. My heart slams itself against its cage over and over in a desire to get out, to touch her and be certain, but she told me not to do that. So all I can do is look.
And break in utter silence.
“You cut my name off?” I rasp out, my fingers clenching into fists.
She lifts her chin stubbornly. “I’m not yours anymore.”
“The fuck you aren’t,” I snap as I reach for the back of her neck before dropping my hand and striding towards her instead. She takes a step back for every one I make until she bumps into the wall. Her pulse quickens, but she doesn’t cower, doesn’t recede back inside her walls. She lifts her chin, daring me to do my worst.
Pressing both hands on the wall beside her face, I lean in and duck my head. “Whether we’re blood bonded or not, little monster, you aremine. I will find you in the afterlife. I will find you in the next life. You will never be fucking rid of me.”And I will make you fall in love with me again. I will spend the rest of all my lives following you around until you fucking come to remember that I. Am.Yours.
My heart pounds, those words stuck in my throat, but I can’t bring myself to say them, to put them in the air for her to reject when I’m this raw.
So I turn away from her. Removing my blood-stained clothes, I pull on a pair of shorts, then head for the door so I can go find a fucking brother to spar with.
Except I stop when I catch sight of her patch of skin. A clean cut. One piece with everything on it. Bending down, I pick it up with a shaky hand, then walk over to grab the knife so she can’t cut herself again in my absence.
Striding across the room, I make my way to the door. I hesitate before stepping through it, wishing I knew how to cross the divide I’ve made between us. I turn to look at her. She isn’t looking at me. Isn’t looking at anything, back in that void inside her mind.
My knuckles tight, I step out into the hall before the sun is even up, then shut it softly behind me.
Thirty-One
HIM
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Enoch asks as he stares up at me from the floor of the gym, nursing his swollen jaw.
“Fine,” I say as I kick his sword back at him. “You need to get better at hand-to-hand. You rely too strongly on your magic. What happens if you lose it?”
Like Micha did?I see the question in his eyes even if he’s smart enough not to say it. Blowing out a breath, he works his jaw, then grabs his sword and climbs back to his feet.
“I’d get into the habit of carrying a gun,” he says. “What I wouldn’t do is use a sword.” He scoffs. “I don’t know why all the fantasy books keep to medieval shit. So many natural things burn so well. Did they just get rid of all of that, as well as teenage boys just wanting to fuck about with shit when they were world building? Like, seriously? Do you know what gunpowder was originally used for? Trying to make an immortal elixir. You’re telling me, no one in all the fantasy worlds ever decided to fuck around with materials just to see what they did? It doesn’t makeanysense.”
He’s talking shit just to stall, and the irritation I have is growing. “Would you rather we lose the swords?”
He looks at me warily. He knows I’m holding back. He’s a shit swordsman, so I’m not hacking at him like he’s Khalid or Maddox. Hel, even Krypto’s footwork is better than his.
But Khalid is in bed with his girl, well deserved after the shit they went through. Antonio forced him to beat her while he touched himself. Khalid then cut off his own hand, the one he used to hit her, unable to bear having it attached to him. For hurting his girl is an unforgivable sin.
AndMaddox is out hunting, rebuilding his stash of dead bodies, and Leno refuses to let me spar with his dog. Says it gives him too much anxiety.
So I’m stuck with the bottom-of-the-barrel Enoch.
“No,” my brother groans as he hacks his sword through the air at his feet. “I don’t need you kicking me in the balls this morning.”
“You ever planning on using them?”
“I use them all the time –”
