Page 91 of Behind the Shadows
“I used to,” I said. “Before I learned monsters get to write their own destinies.”
She stared straight at me as storm clouds danced across her features.
“Well, I believe in revenge,” she said. “And if your uncle is alive?”
She reached for my hand. “I’ll help you find him. But I want to help kill him.”
The rain kissed her skin in tiny droplets.
And I watched each one like it was a holy thing, like the sky itself was paying tribute to her. To this moment.
She stood at the side of the gravel road, red hair soaked, fists clenched, trembling—but not from fear. From purpose. From fury. From the weight of everything she hadn’t said until now.
She was fire made flesh. Not fragile but forged. Every breath she took was a refusal to be silenced. And I loved her for it. Iachedfor it. I wanted to fall to my knees before it.
I stepped closer, slow. Careful. Like I was approaching a wild thing that hadn’t decided whether to run or rip out my throat.
There was power in her, something brutal and sacred, and I didn’t flinch from it. Iworshippedit.
Let the world fear her. Let them look away.
I never would.
I was hers, and she didn’t even have to ask.
“Okay. And for the record, I would’ve killed her,” I said softly. “If you hadn’t come with me. I would’ve put a pillow over her face and watched the life drain from her.”
She looked at me, something fragile flickering beneath her gaze.
“But your way was better,” I added. “Quieter. Colder. You gave her exactly what she gave us.”
A slow, bitter smile curved her lips. “No blood. No bruises. Just time and silence—and her own sins. That’s fucking justice.”
I wrapped my arms around Holland and pulled her to me. We stood there, two devils pretending to be human under the weight of too many ghosts.
Then she asked, barely a whisper, “Do you ever wish you could forget it all?”
I didn’t answer right away. I focused on the trees instead. The mist curled between the branches and I thought about the road we still had to walk.
“I used to,” I said. “But if I forgot it, I wouldn’t remember who to kill.”
Her laugh was a broken thing. “You really are fucked up.”
I kissed the top of her head. “So are you, but you’re perfectly mine.”
She looked up at me, and for the first time, I saw it. Not just pain. Not just rage. Understanding. Not the kind you speak. The kind that lives in your bones, under your skin, behind your eyes.
“I’m tired, Kip,” she said. “Of being hunted. Of waking up with ghosts in my chest and bruises I didn’t earn.”
I brushed my knuckles across her damp cheek. “I won’t let anyone touch you again,” I said. “Not him. Not anyone.”
She nodded once. “And I won’t let anyone hurt you either.”
She reached up, brushing a raindrop from my temple. Then she whispered, “If we burn, we burn together.”
I held her tighter, and for the first time since I was a kid, I didn’t feel alone. I felt … seen.
We weren’t healed. We weren’t whole. But we were ours.
