The Wicked Within

TWENTY-SIX

HE WAITED UNTIL THE HOUSE was quiet, until the kids were in bed and there’d be no interruptions. He had to talk to her now, to try and resolve things before he went to Olympus tomorrow to see Archer. He knocked, and her muted voice answered from the other side of the bedroom door. Slowly he pushed it open. She turned away from the dresser. The strain and worry that had lurked in her eyes since the day they met was gone. In their place shone a clear turquoise blue.

But as he entered the room, some of the strain came back into her eyes. Because of him, the lies he’d told, the way he’d pushed her away.

Her fingers fiddled with a new top hat in her hand. She placed it on the charred skull of Eugene Hood, one of Dub’s decorating contributions from St. Louis Cemetery, and then rearranged the bed of Mardi Gras beads around the skull’s base.

“He’s grown on you, huh?” he said.

“Yeah. Guess I got used to the creep factor at the other house. My room wouldn’t be the same without him staring at me from the dresser.” She leaned back, curious and hesitant.

He swallowed. “How do you feel?” She’d gotten what she’d been after. Her curse was gone, and she was free. It still amazed him every time he thought about it.

Her brow furrowed as she thought about her answer. “Normal, I guess. I feel mostly the same, physically. The big change is in here.” She tapped her temple. “Still getting used to the idea that it’s over. I have a future, you know?” She looked away, then back at him. “Thank you. For helping me. For everything. How do you feel?”

What would she say when he told her? He shoved his hands in his pockets and drew in a deep breath, his nerves having a field day. “The same. I’m still the same, Ari.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Her face changed, going a tiny bit paler. A frown wrinkled her forehead. “But—” She shook her head.

“I told Horus not to change me back.”

“Why?” She breathed the word, holding on to the dresser behind her with both hands.

“Because things changed. When we were fighting in the cathedral . . . And after, with everything that happened . . . Strength, power . . . They have their benefits.”

“Benefits,” she repeated.

God, this was uncomfortable. “The kind that allow me to protect the people I care about.”

She blinked. “You didn’t have to do that. You hate—”

“No. I’m making my peace with who I am. And I’m not being some kind of martyr, all right? It wasn’t a sacrifice in the way you’re thinking. It’s for me, too. To know I’m stronger, more powerful than most. I didn’t want to give that up. There’s security in that. I can stand up to whatever comes our way in the future. It takes some of the worry away, for me, for the kids, the baby . . . you.”

Her mouth curved in a rueful smile. “And I ended up with my powers anyway.”

“Yeah. Didn’t see that one coming. If I had, though, I would’ve made the same decision.”

She licked her bottom lip and bit down, snagging his attention to the faint glisten left behind. His pulse kicked up a notch. Did she really have to do that? Now, when he was trying his damnedest to be good and keep his distance?

Her expression shifted to sad acceptance. Her chin lifted, and she parked a smile on her face. “Okay. So I guess that makes us friends, then.”

Wait. “What? No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Hurt filled her eyes. “I can’t, Sebastian. I’m not made that way. To know—”

“I’m not asking you to be okay with me drinking from someone else. I’ll get it from a bag. Look, I made mistakes before when I tried to avoid feeding, and I screwed myself big-time. I’ve already put myself on a regular schedule. I’m making sure I’m supplied, that I won’t go crazy like I did before.” He ran a hand down his face, wanting desperately for her to understand, to believe in him again. He moved forward, closer, but not too close. “I didn’t let you in before, and I’m sorry. I told you I wanted to be in a relationship and then I shut you out. It wasn’t fair. I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Of turning you off, hurting you, of losing everyone. If you all saw me when I . . . it wasn’t pretty. It was ugly and harsh and violent. And it was my fault, because I kept trying to avoid drinking and that made the cravings worse. I . . . I don’t know. I was stupid, an ass, whatever you want to call me.”

She pushed off the dresser and took a step forward. The scent of her soap and shampoo made his gut tighten. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her, but he forced them still. He had no right to touch her. She’d told him before that she was “done.” And he wasn’t sure if she still felt that way.

He wanted her to make her own decision, to touch him if she wanted to. He didn’t know why, but that was monumentally important to him. Maybe because by reaching out, she’d be accepting him. And that acceptance would mean more to him than anything.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. He swallowed and nodded. “If you are possessed with the urge to drink from anything other than a bag, you come to me.”

A spark of hope stirred in his chest. She would help him through any rough times. That was a good sign. A fucking great sign.

“If you need to drink from anyone, it’ll be from me, for as long as we’re together.”

Hope exploded, firing through his chest like a goddamn missile. His heart thumped hard and fast. And when she reached out and placed both of her hands on his hips, he lost it. He totally lost it. He dragged her to him and held on for dear life.