Page 64 of Break Her Heart
Benedict leaned over my shoulder. “Part of Alentara. It’s one of the more dangerous areas, but a place where a lot of the artifacts Carrow collected seemed to originate from. The magic there is strong, but the area’s overrun with creatures that make vampires look like angels. They call it the Night Realm because it is complete darkness at all times.”
“I get why Carrow came here. That is terrifying.”
August leaned over too, glancing at the image. He shrugged. “I think he was running from something.”
I spun the gold ring on my finger. Since the moment we stepped into the archives, the tension had been unbearable. Neither of us had spoken more than necessary. The events of the night before refused to stay buried, looping through my mind while I tried to focus on the texts. The bite, the bath, the smirk on his face—I couldn’t shake any of it. So I had done the only thing I could: I avoided him. I spent the day talking to Benedict instead, keeping a polite smile on my face as I asked him about the tomes, the artifacts, anything to avoid August’s gaze.
But that didn’t make it any easier. My thoughts were still a tangled mess, and staring through ancient drawings while pretending my insides weren’t twisted into knots made my headache worse by the hour. August still leaned over my shoulder looking at the tome, but I knew he was more interested in bothering me than the drawing he was staring at.
I slammed it shut, the sound echoing louder than I meant it to. My hands trembled as I stood. Being this close to him—feeling his body brush against mine when he leaned over myshoulder, the way his scent curled around me and sank its claws into my chest—was too much. I could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my waist, the heat of his breath at my ear. It was suffocating.
I stepped over to the shelves and ran my hand across a few of the artifacts in my line of sight. I could feel the magic pulsing inside each of the objects, like a quiet heartbeat.
Benedict straightened behind me, his gaze lingering a beat too long. He gave me a curious look. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle: why his brother, the king, had tied himself to a witch who set vampires on fire without blinking. “They’ll never stop talking about you downstairs, you know,” he said. “Not every day a pretty witch sets the great room ablaze. And then days later dances as if none of it ever happened.”
I stiffened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw August’s fingers flex against the table—a warning without words.
“They’ll talk themselves to death,” I said coolly, turning back around.
You keep pushing me. You want to see what happens when I stop holding back?
Our conversation echoed in my mind, and I hadn’t realized until today just how bad the need for him was. A part of me had never stopped wanting him. I was angry—for the secrets, the marriage, the ruin he’d brought into my life—but that didn’t change how badly I still wanted him. Craved him.
We could do things. It could mean nothing. Stopping Carrow and sex. I wondered if that too much to ask.
But I couldn’t believe how easy it was for me to push him to the edge. I wanted more. Ineededmore.
I glanced back at August and watched him flip through another tome. He sat with his legs spread, fingers curled around the leather binding. And all I could think of was how those samefingers had felt inside me when he first touched me like that. The look in his eyes when he watched me fall apart.
I looked up. He was already watching me. I spun back around too quickly, catching my arm on a metal statue. Pain flared, and I hissed as I clutched the sore spot.
Before I could move again, August was in front of me, his body pressing mine against the wall. A wall I hadn’t even been near.
Benedict was watching us, his eyes now glowing red.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he mumbled, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Go,” August said, his voice low and lethal.
Benedict vanished.
And August turned to me, and his eyes dropped to my arm. The fabric of my sleeve had torn slightly, exposing the angry red mark blooming across my skin. Gently—so gently it startled me—he reached for it. His fingers brushed the edge of the mark, but didn’t touch it directly, like he didn’t trust himself to.
His jaw clenched.
I felt the weight of his restraint. It was in the way his hands hovered, shaking ever so slightly, in the way his pupils dilated as he stared at the spot of blood just beginning to surface. Like he was fighting the worst part of himself.
He swallowed hard.
“It’s nothing,” I said, but my voice came out softer than I meant it to.
He looked up, and our eyes met. And for a second, I swore he looked terrified of himself. Of what he might do if he didn’t walk away.
But he didn’t walk away.
He reached out. “You can’t walk around here with an open wound.”
I almost took his hand—just to feel him again—but I remembered the way he looked so hurt before. The way I hurt him. So instead, I wrapped my fingers around the gash and pulled from the tiny well of stolen magic inside me. It buzzed against my palm as the wound knit together.
