Page 76 of Oracle of Ruin

Rowan was the one who helped change my mind on the blessed and the cursed, who showed me that the only fundamental difference between us is something as trivial as blood color. So how can he expect me to believe him again now that he says we are not equal? Not in ability, anyway.

Because the shadow show in the forest proves him right. Because I was completely out of control and was going to be killed. If I hadn’t by some god found the power to settle the darkness, it would have engulfed me. The curse is real, and as unfair as it is, that is the key difference between the cursed and the blessed. Why must it be that way?

I knock once before opening the door.

“Hi,” I whisper softly as I enter the dark room.

A beat of silence, then the near-silent sputter of a match as the flame transfers to a candle. The light traces the form of a simple bed, a few books, and the man I’ve come searching for.

Blaine sits at the edge of his bed, one leg resting on the worn wooden frame. He cuts an imposing shape even in the dim light, his hulking form seemingly shrinking the rest of the room. His face softens by a fraction. “Hey,” he responds with the same tender softness that mine had.

Each footstep echoes through the room, the rest of our motions silent as if our bodies are terrified to break the quiet peace. His shoulders square and muscles tense as I settle next to him, my knees pressed against his thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

The hell if I know. Something like a thread tugged my feet until I found myself standing outside his door, dawn not yet brushing against the sky. Perhaps it was anger, or that constant longing for the comfort of familiarity. Whichever it was, it brought me to Blaine.

“Why are you up?” I ask instead, leaning my head against his shoulder.

He stiffens for a moment before relaxing, allowing his hand to rest in the space between our thighs. Not close enough to be holding or touching me, but enough so that each time I shift, I can feel his knuckles scrape against my leg.

Blaine laughs lightly, holding up the book in his hands. “Just needed to occupy my mind.”

He doesn’t need to say why. He’s grown more distant in the past few days since we announced Derrín and I would be leaving to find the oracle. It is not the type of distant it used to be back when we were in the palace. Then, it was cold and forced indifference. This time, the space between us is filled with longing, tension, and dare I say regret.

I inhale sharply, shattering the quiet. “I can help.”

The words slip past my lips before I can realize what I am saying. What I am doing.

Blaine watches my motions with deadly stillness as I idle closer. I feel no warmth as my skin meets his, no shocks to fleck my skin with gooseflesh. I push myself closer to him, my torso tightly pressed to his.

My lips move against his jaw, sending each breath he takes rattling through my skull. My fingers reach up to his lips as he clenches his jaw, restraining himself even now as I offer myself wholly to him.

His breath ceases to warm my face as he inhales sharply. He’s holding his breath. The sight of him so unraveled by our close proximity should ignite that old heat. It doesn’t. Maybe if I just…

I’m halfway on top of him now, my lips only a breath away from his. He smells like before the world went to shit. Spice from the local bakery. Some earthy scents from the days we would run from the inner palace. Home.

My lips brush against his, and as I am about to move a hair further, his hand clamps over my mouth, shoving me just far enough away. My back hits his mattress, his body kneeled over mine. His breathing is ragged and his gaze dark. The muscles in his arm tense as he holds me there. Close enough to hold and yet far enough to be out of reach.

“Don’t kiss me,” he murmurs huskily. “Not while you’re still thinking of him. I won’t be your replacement because you’re pissed off that you can’t have what you want.” His voice should be filled with rage or desire, but there is only sorrow in his dark eyes as they bore down on me.

I swallow thickly, and he flinches as he feels my lips brush against the hand that covers them. Slowly, he lowers it and I breathe deeply.

“And what if I want you?”

I can feel his body go rigid, even at the blatant lie. I’m in too deep to feel burning remorse or guilt. Blaine pauses only for a moment before he moves with the stealth and precision of a predator. His lips cover mine and swallow my gasp as my back arches from the bed to bring myself closer to him. His mouth guides mine, taking more than giving while waiting for me to catch up. I lift my hips as his tongue sweeps my lower lip and across my teeth. Claiming. Possessive. His hands grip the back of my head, pulling me further into him while his other arm wraps around my waist. His body presses into all the places that used to make me gasp as he takes more and more of me.

But I feel nothing.

Only an aching emptiness remains as Blaine plants a final kiss to my swollen lips. He glowers at me, a mix of passion, sorrow, and finally, that cold anger.

Regret settles low in my gut and I scramble to sit up straight, righting my clothes and gasping. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I— I don’t know what I was doing.”

“You felt cold.”

“What?”

“Whenever my fingertips traced your ribs, you used to gasp and squirm. When I took the initiative, you’d practically be a puddle in my arms. Now you’re stiff, just going through the motions. You feel nothing when I kiss you, but I feel everything. I am completely consumed by you. Your scent, your feel, your taste. You burn hotter the tighter I hold you, and yet I can’t let go. I can still see that future for us,” he growls, his anger giving way as tears prick at his eyes. “I love you and you feel nothing. Don’t toy with me. Don’t make me hate you.”

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