Page 56 of Entangled

And of course, Jaykob is quite sensitive to losing people.

“They’reboth—” Eden cuts herself off... and I watch it happen.

I see the way those shimmering eyes widen, how her expressionbreaks. I see her throw her arms around him, and how she presses her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in like a last breath.

And there’s something in Jaykob’s face I’ve only ever caught glimpses of before, extracted deep in the most exhausted, vulnerable moments of our sessions when snippets of truth hemorrhage out of him. Something uncertain and very real.

His arms are slow to come around her—hesitant, as though he’s out of practice with the motion.

He probably is.

Heat rolls over me, like the first, nauseous stirrings of a fever.

My approach is slow, and I hate that I feel like I’m intruding. I hate that I can still feel her tear scalding my thigh and hear the cool clip in her tone from our conversations after.

I hate that Jaykob is a comfort to her and I am not.

It’s the one way I was meant to be useful to her.

Eden nestles into him and lets loose, soaking him to the bone with her tears, and I watch with unwilling fascination.

She is... not herself. Or at least, not the way she has ever been around me. Not even that first night, where she allowed Beaumont and me to ravage her. Then, she was sweetly submissive. Shocked and dazzled and achingly beautiful.

Now, her usual reserve is unshackled. Abandoned. She’s an open book for him—as open as every novel I sprawled my feelings across and laid at her doorstep.

And I do feelsickwith it.

It takes me too long to identify the emotion.

Jealousy.

My eyes drift shut, and I let out a long breath from my nose. It does nothing to settle the hot, queasy churn of my emotions.

That is... most inconvenient.

“Beaumont is tending to Lucien,” I murmur, firmly ignoring the uncomfortable sensation. “He’s receiving the best care he can. I am sure he’ll be fine.”

It’s what I tell myself each morning. Every night.

Eden pulls back a little, until her feet touch the ground again, though she stays nestled against Jaykob. Her gaze flutters back up to mine, and she’s wrecked and luminous with tears.

Why are pretty tears so perfectly designed to ruin me?

I could make her cry prettier tears than these.

Happier ones, certainly.

Jaykob’s hand drops to Eden’s ass, and I blink out of my trance, then glance up to find him scowling at me.

I arch a cool brow, unimpressed by the primitive mating display.

“I—” Eden shifts under his hand, darting a baffled look up at him, then looks back at me. “They’re really okay? Everyone is really... alive?”

“They’re doing well, Eden,” I say gently. In a cautious tone, I venture, “We were more worried about what happened to you.”

And like a lantern in a gusty castle, her expression gutters out. “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself about me.”

Worry pinches at me at her avoidance, but this is no time to talk—not with her wounded and exhausted and emotions frazzled from weeks of fear. I’ll find a private moment later.

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