Page 69 of Light As A Feather
“If it means he gets to live, I’ll do anything.” A non-answer that’s a weak attempt to save us both.
“Will you be mine, or not, Solaneen? That is the choice you must make.”
“What could you possibly want from a teenage girl?” I hate myself for the choked sob that escapes me, for the weakness that overcomes me in Thorne’s time of need when he’s been such a source of strength for me.
“I want to breathe. I want to experience the living world. And you, my dear, are very much alive.” He grips me tighter, the curl of his fingers as threatening as his words. “But most of all, I want you.”
A hot tear runs freely down my cheek. “What does that mean?”
“Do you want an explanation, or do you want him to live? He’s running out of time. Yes, or no? It’s your choice.”
My mind moves a million miles a minute, but there’s only one way forward.“There’s really no choice at all, is there?” Anger rises as I find myself at another unfair crossroads.
“Yes or no? His life or his death? The clock is ticking.” The imbalance of power between us swells as he looms over me and holds out his hand. It remains there as I weigh how wise it is to trust something that shouldn’t even exist in the first place.Then I see clearly. He’s ripped me across the veil by the heart,luring me into a situation where I can’t possibly say no, and he encourages me to strike a deal that I know I’ll be paying for the rest of my life.
It’s as if the inside of my throat is swelling, trapping the words I don’t want to say. I open my mouth, but there’s no sound, only silence spilling from my aching soul.But then, horrid, throaty gasping comes from Hawthorne as he spasms. I watch in shock as he goes completely still.
My hesitation becomes desperation at the chilling sight.
“No, please. We have a deal.” Our hands shake, and the chime of the grandfather clock rattles through the house like an earthquake. Hawthorne’s limp body falls to the ground, his head slamming into the hardwood.
Ivan disappears into the void, leaving me at the brink of uncertainty. Was I too late?
I clutch Hawthorne’s too-cold hand, as I silently plead with him not to leave me. I try not to lose hope. The few minutes he’s out drag torturously before he takes a deep, gasping breath, and wide brown eyes meet mine.
“Where did you go?” he asks, and I’m speechless. Jayden finally snaps out of his shock, crawling over to us. Our eyes meet, and I shake my head, demanding his silence until I find out what Hawthorne remembers. Begrudgingly, he nods.
Another slow morning, and it would be the dream, but we’re not in a position to enjoy quiet breakfasts and lazy days. Something is deeply wrong. I can feel it in my bones; they ache with anticipation, and not the good kind.
I can bear the possibility of losing myself, but I won’t let our circumstances rob me of Hawthorne. We’re in purgatory—waiting for what’s next with no direction—but I’m no stranger to finding stolen moments.
Concern festers inside me. I’ve given it time, but if Hawthorne won’t talk about what’s plaguing him, I can’t just keep pretending everything is fine. Because even in this, the ebb and flow of his pain, he protects me. I hate it.
Does he think I can’t handle it? That I can’t shoulder his weight for a bit? I thought I’d grown stronger in the years I’d been gone—hardened, protected myself with absence. But, true to nature, animals with the hardest shells are the most vulnerable once they’re cracked.
I’ve cracked.
Swept up in Hawthorne’s embrace, I’ve allowed myself to rely on him as my defense; he gave me room to do so. The problem is, we aren’t through the hardest part of this yet. Who’s protecting him if he’s so busy keeping both eyes on me?
I refuse to allow him to suffer for my sake.
Now isn’t the time for healing; it’s time for raising our guards. We need to be building ourselves up, preparing for the worst.
But Thorne isn’t all there right now. He’s distracted, wounded, and in denial.
“Let’s go.” I hold my hand out for his.
“Where are we going?”
“Did you have somewhere else to be?” The silence that follows confirms my expectations. “Then you’ll see when we get there.”
I tug him along to the large back deck where I’ve set out his old fencing equipment.
“What’s this?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“We’re going to get some real practice in, like old times, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on in your head.”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
