Page 19 of Light As A Feather
To succumb is to risk the greatest loss of all.
The need within him calls to me. A possessive, haunting song in a tongue only the two of us understand. My ears perk up, mypulse jumps, my mind quiets. For just a few seconds, I allow it to tempt me, the words pulling me into a trance.
But my survival instincts dominate me after years of being forced into overdrive.
Beneath the yearning and devotion, I find reason and restraint.
“You don’t understand. Ivan might be absent right now, but only because he wants to be. When he reappears—and he will come back—he’s going to do everything he can to break us. I can’t make you any more a part of this than you’ve already made yourself.You can’t fix this.” My stomach churns, and I press my hand against my underbust corset. My lungs work hard, my heart hammering as the anxiety builds. “Tell me that you’ll let this go. Let this be goodbye.” I slip my fingers beneath the structured fabric, reaching for the cold metal that I keep tucked there in case of emergency.
“You know that I can’t do that.”
“I’m begging you.” The request wavers with the unsteadiness of my resolve.
“There is nothing you can do to make me give up on you.” His lips crush mine as he traps me against the wall. Forcing my body to go limp, I give no resistance, kissing him back, my tongue sliding between his teeth and teasing his. “It’s me and you in this life and the next.”
Hawthorne’s moan of pleasure turns into a grunt of pain when I manage to pull my hand from between us and drive the small blade into the hand clutching my hip. “Ah, shit,” he gasps and immediately releases me.
Seizing the opportunity, I slip out from under him and run to the back door. My heart flies a mile a minute as I bound down the porch steps and tear through the backyard in a sprint.
An onslaught of rain pours from the cloud-riddled sky. Even with so much tree coverage, it quickly drenches my hair andweighs down my skirt. The ground is muddy, sucking at my shoes like grabbing hands that want me to stay just as much as he does.
The crack of the door thudding against the house causes me to flinch and nearly slip. He’s determined in his pursuit. Years of soccer made him agile and quick-footed, whereas I struggled with depth perception and have—until now—considered myself lucky that I haven’t had a reason to sprint since high-school gym class.
There are mere feet between us. Our breaths and feet pounding on dirt drown out the rainfall. His panting might as well be screams, the way they rattle against my eardrums with every inch he gains on me. The telling absence of it as he braces himself gives me the warning before he grabs me, but I still don’t lunge quickly enough, my mind and body needing more time to coordinate. Arms wrapping around my waist, he easily drags me back into him, turning us so his back hits the ground when we collide.
Like a cat, I dig my nails into him, attempting to pry his hands away from where they’re linked around my stomach. It becomes useless when his strong thighs wrap around my hips and his arms bring my own across my chest.
“Trying to fly away is useless, Nightingale. I’m always going to be right behind you.”
My muscles flex in rebellion, attempting to reject the obvious truth. Just like I’ve been scheming, he’s been planning for this very opportunity. “You’re digging your own grave.”
“Maybe.” He kisses the top of my head and holds me tighter. “Please, just give me a chance.”
Desperately searching for a convincing argument, I fall silent, and we sit there beneath the weeping clouds that are a mockery of my inner turmoil. My frustration ebbs as my teeth chatter and my skin pebbles, the chill seemingly seeping into myveins. Where there was molten resolution just minutes ago, it cools to bitter acceptance. The fight goes out of me like a blown-out candle.
I’m so tired.
My bones ache with the lifetimes I’ve lived, always on alert, always looking over my shoulder. Only thirty-two, but I feel like I could easily be entering my sunset years. I suppose I have, though. I know there’s no way out of this. There never was.
For the better part of my life, I’ve known that my death would be painful and full of sorrow. A grief and a loss that I would feel more than anyone because there would be no resting in peace.
I sold myself to the devil. He waits, somewhere in this house, a hungry, jealous thing. And no matter what I do, there’s no getting rid of him—I’ve been told so over, and over, and over again. The truth is that I’ve just been trying to put off the shitty fate I’ve been destined to meet, and he’s been trying to push me over the edge.
On the ground that had once been my sanctuary, in my rain-soaked clothes, the weight of everything becomes too much, pinning me down and holding me there in this moment.
In an exasperated sigh, I admit defeat. “Okay.”
“What?” He’s breathless.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he says through a laugh, his voice light with joy that I don’t feel. I’m just defeated. “Come on. I have something I want to show you.” Pulling me to my feet, he steadies me, then wastes no time tugging me behind him to whatever it is that’s suddenly so important.
I’ve never been a fan of surprises. With surprises, you can’t prepare yourself for different outcomes, can’t make sure you wear the right expression for the occasion. But I follow him anyway. If I’m honest with myself, I’d follow him anywhere.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t the stunning structure before me. A mausoleum that stands amongst the trees at the back of the property, I’m genuinely shocked. It towers over me, a solid mass of stone with several intricately carved Gothic spires reaching toward the sky. I stop right where I am, struck by the beauty of the structure that’s both out of place amongst the redwoods and looks like it’s always belonged here.
Engraved above the entrance is the phrase, ‘Not Even In Death Do We Part.’ My breath catches, the words an echo of a memory that I’ve tried my best to forget because it’s too excruciating to reflect on all the ways I’ve betrayed it.
