Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(72)

But it couldn’t.

Nothing was okay anymore.

Nothing would be again.

The emotion twisted out of me, desperate to find something to hit as Joclyn placed Risha’s hand over her chest then covered her with her own bloodstained sheet. As she removed her from this world.

I needed to hit something. I needed to hurt. But Ilyan held me there. He held me as I collapsed to the ground, trying to hold me together.

But nothing could hold me together. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know who said it, and I didn’t care. They could say it all they wanted.

It didn’t change anything.

It didn’t bring back what that little girl had taken away.

It didn’t take away the pain.





WYN





17





“I feel like I’m hugging a dead chicken,” I said, happy to be in his arms despite missing the usual bulk of his muscles.

“Sorry about that, Wyn. I was too busy not dying to find time to hit a gym.” He chuckled, the laugh rippling over me.

The sound was a familiar blanket that wrapped around me, rattling against the wreckage that was still scattered over Thom’s room. It attempted to scare away the memory of what had happened hours before, but there was too much.

Ilyan had tried to cover it up, cleaning it the best he could, but the destruction was still scattered over the floor, stained on the floor, smeared on the walls.

For the briefest of moments, however, I forgot all of that. Thom forgot all of that. And the room was happy, familiar. Then the laugh ended, and death enveloped the darkness again, leaving us lying on his bed, wrapped together in our bubble, savoring the last shard of joy that existed in the cathedral.

By some Míracle, Thom was alive. Dramin’s magic had freed him from whatever Ovailia had done to him. It was the last act Dramin would ever do—saving his best friend’s life.

At least, that was the best guess Ilyan had been able to come up with. Nothing else made sense, which was probably why I was having trouble accepting that all of this was real and not some drug-induced hallucination.

I lived during the 70s, you know.

I mean, not in that way, but I get it.

Cuddled together on his bed, we lay in the dark. Our fingers danced above our heads, twisting and tangling over each other as though we weren’t certain if we should hold hands or not. I didn’t know if I wanted to or if that small movement would kill the dream.

I guess it didn’t do to live in fear.

“You can hold my hand, you know,” I teased, poking him in the side with my free hand. “It’s not going to eat you.”

“It might. You don’t know,” Thom retorted, twisting his fingers through mine again before letting them go. My heart stuttered at the brief pressure. “It looks lethal.”

“Thom,” I moaned, fully aware that it was something I had picked up from Jos. Thom knew it, too, and he laughed, both of us shaking from his chuckle as it rippled within him.

“Besides, I’m too mesmerized by your new adornment.”

“It’s a hole, Thom,” I sighed, moving my hand up so what little light we had in the room shone through it and over us. “Not an adornment.”

“But it could be.”

It was my turn to laugh, the sound strained with emotion and slightly out of place. “You sound like Joclyn. She wants me to put a spy glass in the—”

“And you haven’t yet?” Thom asked, attempting to shift his weight enough to see me and failing, falling down to the bed with a grunt and a sigh. “What is wrong with you?”

“Something drastic, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He chuckled, the fluid dance of our hands stopping as his fingers trailed up my arm, the touch soft on my skin, tickling against my neck and jaw bone. “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”

“I don’t see how you plan on doing that.” I teased.

“I think I’ll find a way,” he snickered, moving himself so close to me that I could only see the bright blue of his eyes. I stared at the color, desperate for a breath I couldn’t get, for his lips were already locked on mine, his hands already twisted around my waist as he pulled me against him. The light pressure of his fingers made me shiver as they trailed up my spine before fanning over my neck, locking me in place.

My gut twisted from the touch. Regret, want, and guilt wrestled with each other. They twisted together until my heart pushed them away and rejoiced in this moment, in this kiss that one very loud part of my soul had desired for centuries. We hadn’t shared a kiss like this since before our daughter had been taken from us.

The kiss was pain and sadness, but it was also beautiful and wanted.

My magic reacted to the touch, flaring and burning inside of me. I could barely breathe as he held me against him, his lips strong as they grabbed at mine, pressed against me. One after another, deeper and deeper, he smothered me with them, moving them over my jaw and down my neck.

The heat of my magic erupted as he continued, the fire burning me as it tried to reach him. The sensation was familiar, one that I had missed for centuries. It was different than with Talon. The magic was different, the feeling different, but I still wanted it.

I didn’t care that I could barely breathe. I didn’t care that my mind was screaming for oxygen and my magic for escape.