Page 96 of Trust In Love (Love Mark 2)

She had made me believe anything was possible.

“You can’t go,” I swore. “You can’t. You said I wouldn’t lose you. You promised me. Dammit, Nicolette. You promised. Now open your fucking eyes.”

She didn’t.

I splintered; a dry moan scraped the insides of my throat. This was my fault. I knew exactly what would happen if I cared for someone again. I’d even warned myself not to. But I’d come to care for Nicolette anyway. And look what had happened.

I’d done this to her.

“Nic…” I shook my head, and everything inside me grew tight. Burning. Shying away from the pain even as it grew and morphed, consuming me, I fisted my hands and pounded them against the ground. “I’m sorry.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. How was I going to go on?

I couldn’t. Not without her.

But she was gone. The river had washed away her concealer that had been hiding the tattoo. I wiped the wetness from her face and squinted at it as it started to fade.

What the…?

Why was it fading? Tattoos didn’t fade when a person died.

The love mark is a special tattoo, Nicolette’s voice floated through my head. She’d told me so much about them, and I’d only listened with half an ear, not interested in fairy tales.

I knew you’d come for me.

I shuddered out a heavy breath. She’d truly believed in that damn mark, more than I’d ever seen anyone believe in anything.

I felt your presence the moment you were brought into the castle as a prisoner at the end of the war.

I brushed my thumb over it. Then tapped it five times, unable to h

elp myself. The sparks that spurted from it were faint, dying.

But not completely gone. Not yet.

I’ve seen true love’s kiss bring people back from the dead.

My lips parted. No. It couldn’t be possible. I didn’t believe. Once someone died, they were gone. But I was willing to try.

I’d attempt anything to bring her back.

Gulping, with my lungs stuttering with fear—not sure if I was more worried that this wouldn’t work or that it would—I leaned down, closed my eyes, and gently touched my mouth to her cold, bloodless lips.

It was like kissing a dead fish. Chilly, slippery, and wet, she even smelled like one. When her mouth didn’t tighten to kiss me back, I pressed against her harder, praying louder.

Please, please, please. I don’t know how to go on without you.

She’d entered my life like a whirlwind and scattered everything all around: my priorities, my feelings, my goals. And now I was altered. She couldn’t leave again, just like that. I hadn’t had enough time with her.

A hoarse sound broke from my lips as I pulled away.

She was gone.

“No…” I stroked her hair, then cupped her face desperately, unwilling to accept it. “Please. Nicolette, I…” I’d never told her. She’s said the words to me repeatedly, and they’d meant everything. And I hadn’t even once uttered them to her in return.

“I love you,” I whispered now, pressing my forehead to hers, not sure how to deal with this, how to go on, how to exist. I wanted to lie down next to her, hug her to my side, and die with her.

The first tear plummeted down my cheek. I closed my eyes and slapped the ground next to her head. “I’ll do anything,” I yelled.

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