Page 118 of Heimlock
Silence is the only reply. I don’t know if he’s here, but where else could he be?
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? It’s not like I know him. He could have some favorite spot that offers solace. A Dragon his size can fly across the continent of Avalon in a day. Trinte could be anywhere.
All sixteen of my calls and five of my texts were ignored. He’s always been quick to respond, so even if Orliana didn’t tell me what was going on, I’d know something was wrong.
What if he’s hurting himself?
What if he’s dead?
He admitted that he's been close to killing himself.
What if this is the final reason?
Terror unlike anything I’ve ever experienced spikes, forcing my fist to pound on the door harder. “Please, Trinte. Please open up.”
I’m becoming hysterical, with tears soaking my face. I can’t lose him — I just found him.
I grab the door handle, despite having checked it six times already, and rattle it violently. “I will melt this fucking thing, Trinte! Don’t think I won’t!”
If all that stands between me and saving his life is this door, I will incinerate it. Sobs violently shake my chest. I’m full on hyperventilating as I lift my fists, lighting them on fire.
“I’m doing it right now!” I scream. My blazing hand grips the door handle, turning it red almost instantly.
The lock slides out of place and the door swings open, ripping the almost-melted handle out of my grasp.
His energy is like a punch in the gut. I don’t have to be a Siphon to know something is devastatingly wrong here. He stares down at me, somehow both empty and furious at the same time. Like the only thing that exists for him now is unfettered hate. That single blue eye blazes with it.
“What the fuck do you want, Kyrielle?” he snarls. Nothing of the Trinte I’ve been falling for exists right now.
Except he does. I know he does. If he’s alive, he’s still fighting.
Ignoring his fury, I leap into his chest, hugging him tightly. “Please don’t make me leave. I won’t leave. You’ll have to drag me out by the hair.”
His rigid body is sweltering. My arms barely wrap around his belly, but I cling to him, ready to fight for the privilege to stay. Beg, even, if he tries to shove me out.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says firmly. “You need to leave.”
“No.”
“Kyrielle—”
“No!” I scream into his sweat-soaked shirt, barely able to breathe between sobs. “You will let me stay because I want to stay, Trinte.”
His arms continue to dangle at his sides, the tension turning him into stone. “I don’t want you here.”
Ignoring the pain those words deliver, I hug him tighter. “Yes, you do. You’re just being mean.”
“I am mean.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m a terrible person, Kyrielle.”
“No, you’re not.”
His chest shakes. “I’m not worth it.”
“You are.”
