Page 104 of Mark of Love (Love Mark 3)

But Indigo seemed to find happiness no matter what. We had shackled him, taken his horse, stabbed him, cut him, threatened him, and yet he continued to smile and hum and light up from within as if he were his own source of illumination.

To see all that brightness snubbed out seemed like the worst sort of offense. The world needed exactly his kind of optimism.

And knowing it was my fault that he’d lost it made everything worse.

“I’m fine,” he said without even looking at me.

I sighed. Typical Indigo, reading my emotions and reacting to them, making sure everything was okay for me. I guess I should be relieved that at least that feature hadn’t changed about him. But it made me feel worse.

“You’re bleeding,” I said.

He glanced down at his side, where blood soaked through his ruined tunic. “It’ll heal.”

Christ.

Maudlin, two-word Indigo was almost as bad as everyday Melaina. I glanced back to scowl at my aunt—just because. And she merely rolled her eyes as if to say see what I mean.

Ignoring her, I turned back to Indigo and blurted, “I’m sorry, okay?”

That finally got his attention. Glancing at me as if I’d lost my mind, he blinked once before saying, “Sorry for what?”

“For…” I slashed a frustrated hand through the air. “I don’t know! For being a Graykey. For being your true love. For—for being the reason you had to kill your own fucking cousin today. I’m just sorry. It’s all my fault. And I—I—If I hadn’t—”

Reaching out, Indigo rendered me silent by simply catching a piece of my hair and running it gently between his fingers. “None of this was your fault.”

“But I could’ve sided with you when you suggested we take the ferry to Moore instead of the canyon pass. Or I could've—”

He shook his head, silencing me as he dropped my hair and set his hand on his thigh. “You’re not at fault,” he repeated. “And there’s no reason to feel guilty or sorry. Hell, I’m not even sorry. I didn’t have to kill him. I wanted to. The moment he lifted that knife, intent to take your life, I wanted him dead. He was my cousin, I did like him, and I mourn the loss, but he made the wrong choice, and I don’t regret defending you. Not ever.”

I opened my mouth as if I should argue that point, but I didn’t know what to say.

Indigo kept talking. “I’m not sorry you’re my true love, either,” he told me. “I think the mark was spot on when it targeted you. You’re the perfect blend I need for a life partner. You’re not easy, no, but I like that, too. You challenge me and check me when I’m wr

ong. You hide your hopes and dreams behind a scowl and a dagger, keeping so much of yourself a mystery. And mysteries are things I just happen to love uncovering, so every time I learn something new, it’s not just a delightful surprise, but a fucking triumph. And you care when I’m sad. Like now.” Blue eyes filling with emotion, he nodded to me, murmuring, “Thank you for that. It means more than you know.”

I swallowed, definitely not sure how to answer now.

His mouth tipped up on one corner and amusement flickered through his gaze. “Want to know something else?” he asked. “I’m not even sorry you’re a Graykey.”

I snorted.

But he insisted, “I’m not. I’ve spent too many years hating and fearing the name. I only saw the horror your house was capable of and the destruction it wrought. Yet after getting to know you…” He shook his head and faced forward. “You’re not evil. You’re just human. As fallible and emotional yet still capable of kindness as the rest of us.”

“Emotional?” I gurgled in indignation.

He gave me a full grin this time. “Yeah. You’re full of the same emotions I have. You don’t like to admit you have them, but I feel them. I’m feeling them right now.” Gaze bursting with a soft affection, he murmured, “And you don’t have to worry about me, alright? I’m fine.”

“If you were fine,” I charged, “you wouldn’t be riding up here, brooding.”

“Brooding?” he said in surprise.

“Yes, brooding. You’d be back there with us, annoying everyone with all your questions about Earth or cracking those pitifully awful jokes.”

He sniffed indignantly. “My jokes aren’t pitiful. Stupid, yes. Corny, definitely. But I think they’re rich with deep, thought-provoking, and pun-filled entertainment.”

“The man was delighted after a burglar stole all his lamps,” I repeated one of the jokes he’d told us last night. “Really?” He thought that was thought-provoking?

“What?” he said, blinking cluelessly. “That’s hilarious.”

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