Page 186 of Once Upon a Fable

I frowned, watching him closely. His color switched from sickly gray to horrifying green. He didn’t look well. Not at all. “Perhaps...perhaps you should lie down. You shouldn’t force anything. You’ll only makeyour recovery harder. You’re awake now, and that’s good news. It means you’re healing, but you shouldn’t rush it.”

His throat rippled as he swallowed hard. “Tell me. What exactly do you think you know about me?”

Before I could forbid my mouth from speaking, I once again put my damn foot in it. “I know you don’t trust me, but if you just pause for a moment, if you take note of what I’ve done, you’ll understand that all your secrets are safe with me. I didn’t hurt you while you were unconscious. I haven’t taken advantage of you. I took no liberties whatsoever. I’m not like them. I promise—”

“Not like who?” His voice went deceptively quiet. Too quiet. Like a knife hidden in velvet. He tugged the leash, jerking my leg from my cross-legged position. “Tell me.”

My eyes fell on the cuff around my ankle. Thick and robust, the leash wasn’t a toy or part of a kinky bedroom kit. The leather wasn’t soft and pliable—definitely not the flimsy type for tame sex games between a happy husband and wife. The aging brown was stained with dark copper splashes; scratch marks marred its historic smoothness.

My stomach turned over. “Is...is that blood?”

Kas nodded as if I’d asked about the weather. “Of course. All of ours combined into one sinister smudge.” His eyes were cold and empty. “Now, tell me what I want to know. Otherwise, your blood can join the smudge too.”

I wrung my hands, glancing across to the sideboard where the ruined dinner I’d cooked the night before sat abandoned along with the kitchen blade I’d kept for protection.

Fat lot of good it did me across the room.

I had an awful, awful feeling if I told Kas what I knew, it wouldn’t work in my favor. He wouldn’t see it the way I did. That he had an ally now. I was on his side. I wanted to help him work through his trauma and—

“I’m sick of waiting.” Lashing out, he grabbed my wrist with his good hand, twisting my skin nastily. “Speak.”

My hand automatically latched onto his, trying to pry him off. The contact between us heated and hissed, hot with chemistry, sparking with electricity that refused to make sense.

“You had dreams, okay? You were...you were in and out of consciousness.” I made eye contact with him before looking back at our linked hands. “Occasionally, you’d wake as someone else. No, not someone else. You were still yourself, just at different times in your life.”

His fingers loosened around my wrist, trembling as he pulled away. “Go on.”

“You...at one point, you thought I was Quell.”

“What?” He froze, shaking his head as if his concussion sucked him backward. “No, I—”

“You called out to your family. You told them to run. That you’d...take care of things.”

He choked, holding up his palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

Scooting upright, I sat on my knees, the leash once again following me as I moved. I knew I shouldn’t. I should honor his wishes to stop. But the desire to help smash his walls and make him realize he was safe was too strong. The sooner he trusted me—the quicker he faced his memories and found happiness—the safer I would be too.

“I don’t think you’ve heard enough at all. I think you’ve suppressed a hell of a lot of stuff from your past. Stuff that’s slowly killing you. What you lived through here...in this place?” I exhaled hard. “God, I can’t imagine the pain, the despair, the horror you all went through.”

His head shot up. “You don’t know shit.”

“I agree with you. No one should have to go through what you did. But you also can’t pretend it didn’t happen. You’re shoving it away. It’s there, inside you, but instead of facing it, you bury it. You would rather—”

“Just because you heard some insane mumblings from a guy who has the worst fucking concussion in history—while he was asleep, mind you—doesn’t reveal the truth. It’s not real. None of it is real. You’re mistaken.”

“If it’s not real, how do you explain the books?”

Once again, he went horrifyingly still. “What books?”

I gulped, wishing I’d never started this. I wasn’t just playing with fire; I’d drenched myself in a can of gasoline. “The Fables by Stuart Page. Morals for all occasions.”

The immediate change in himterrifiedme.

He shut down.

His eyes went blank, his jaw went slack, his body swayed as if he was about to pass out. I wanted him to. He needed to rest. This was too much, too soon. I’d overstepped and been far too hasty.

Way to go, Gem.