Page 98 of Ignite
Maybe he just needs time—with all he’s been through, I wouldn’t blame him for it. But a part of me admits it hurts that he’s shutting me out.
“Let’s get some sleep.” My voice breaks as the hole in my chest grows bigger. It’s the opposite of what I want to do. I want to talk to him, to listen to him. I want to argue with him that I can help.
But my fear stops me from saying any of that.
He nods, not arguing with my suggestion. A part of me wishes he would.
I hand him a towel—scratchy and far too small for him—and turn away, numbly walking to the bed as he dries off.
While he redresses, I sink beneath the covers, hiding from the world. From Graylen. I face the wall, my back to the middle of the bed. He fell in love with a girl who had unlimited power at her fingertips. A girl learning to harness more magic than most fae have heard of one person having.
Now?
With Graylen still in the washroom, I pull a hand out from behind the thin quilted blanket. I tug on my shadows, watching as they twirl around my fingers in the near-dark. Moonlight shines on them, illuminating the brokenness of my magic.
The shadows stutter, the tendrils growing thin before dissipating entirely.
I’m slowly losing that magic.
A single tear rolls down my cheek as the bed dips behind me. Graylen says nothing, and neither do I. The distance between us feels like a vast chasm.
Forty-One
Ametrine
Sweat dripsdown my temple as I blink slowly, my eyes heavy. Nightmares visited me each time I drifted back off, displaying images of Graylen being tortured by Vidaris. I drifted in and out of sleep all night, startling awake with my muscles tense as I continually checked in on Graylen. He didn’t stir, but I often found his breathing quick and brows pinched together.
My dreams have never been a place for comfort, and that’s not something I wanted to have in common with him. The things that are probably haunting him…
My gaze lingers on his tense shoulders and straining neck, snagging on the snake tattoo peeking up over his cotton shirt, the mouth open just beneath his ear.
A twinge pulls at my chest, unable to look away at the reminder of the things done without his consent.
“Only two to spare.” A gruff voice cuts through my thoughts.
I blink, refocusing my attention on the wrinkled and callused human in front of us.
“Two horses is plenty,” I answer without turning to Graylen.
Though it might be more comfortable on separate horses, I don’t plan on letting Graylen be that far from me. There’s a bit more color in his cheeks this morning, and the circles beneath his eyes have dulled after a full night of rest, but we have a long few days of travel.
Maybe it’s selfish, but I need him close so I can focus.
Adrian settles the cost with the stable owner, paying extra for riding gear.
“This here is Misty.” The stable owner pats the neck of a beautiful, petite gray mare. He walks over to a brown-and-white paint and scratches its nose as he says, “And this is Rex.”
Adrian mounts Rex while Graylen and I load up our things on Misty.
Two women pass by the stables, whispering fiercely back and forth but loud enough for us to hear them.
“Maybe he’s dead,” the fair-skinned, shorter woman says. “And Duke Wyman doesn’t want to announce it yet. King Avalon has barely been in the grave.”
I pause, my gaze flicking over Misty to where Adrian is settled on Rex. He stiffens; I know he heard them.
“I think he didn’t want it,” the taller woman says, her blonde hair swooped up in a high knot on the top of her head. “He’s hardly been out of the castle. Can’t blame him for running away and leaving it to Duke Wyman.”
Adrian spins around, mouth ajar.
