Feversong (Fever #9)(83)

Discovering, roughly a month and a half ago, my time—three and half months ago for the world—that I harbored within me untapped potential for murder, chaos, and destruction, that my fight might never be over, had changed me.

I’d never bought for a single moment that I could simply walk away, not open it and escape unscathed. Somehow I’d known that the battle I’d just been through was going to seem like a piece of cake compared to the one I was headed for.

The day I’d discovered the Sinsar Dubh was really there at the bottom of my lake, and I was—let us be perfectly fucking precise here—possessed (and by God, I’d wanted a full-fledged exorcism), I’d begun retreating.

I’d lost the last week of May and most of June in the Silvers. I spent the final days of June and most of July throwing up barrier after barrier between Barrons and me.

I’d simplified and objectified our relationship into one of lust and boundaries, and while both were necessary for a good relationship, it took a lot more than that to make it an epic one.

Things we had, like respect and trust, but also freely expressed desires and accountability to whatever degree it took to make both people happy. It took work, a willingness to fight passionately and fairly—out of bed, not just in it—commitment and honesty. It took waking up and saying each day, I hold this man sacred and always will. He’s my sun, moon, and stars. It took letting the other person in; a thing I’d stopped doing. It took being unafraid to ask for what you wanted, to put yourself on the line, to risk it all for love.

We’d almost been there once.

Until I’d run.

My eyes widened. I’d always thought if either one of us might withdraw from our relationship, it would certainly be him, not me.

But I was the one who’d run.

“Like a world class athlete,” he agreed, dark eyes glittering. “Fast as fuck and not about to stop for anything until you’d crossed the finish line.”

I caught my breath. “Why did you stay?” It would have been easier for him to just leave. A lot of men would have. I’d seriously vacated. Retreated and left him with bad moods and sex, and not much more.

“I understood.”

“What did you understand?” I said, because I sure as hell didn’t. Why had I run, knowing I was about to face another battle that was going to be even harder? A smart woman would have let Barrons in more, leaned on him, cultivated his exceptional strengths and extraordinary powers. But no, I’d shut him out. Redefined our relationship completely, lessening it. And he’d let me. Never said a word about it. Just stayed in the capacity I’d been willing to accept.

“It has nothing to do with intelligence or lack thereof. We’re alike, you and I.”

I blinked. Jericho Barrons had just put us in the same category.

“Alpha to the core. Proud. Independent. We’re private and pissy about our battles, especially the internal ones. We don’t want anyone else in the middle of how messy we think we might get, nor do we want to inadvertently hurt someone. I’d have left you completely until I’d seen it through. At least you stayed in my bed. Some of the time.”

I bristled. “If you ever even think of leaving me to—”

“I don’t fight internal battles anymore.” He was silent a moment then added, “Nor will you. Not even about Jo and the others. Yes, I know you know about them.”

I didn’t bother asking how he knew. “How do you figure?” I was pretty sure I still had a hellish battle to wage with myself.

“Because now you understand there are things we do in our lives for which there is—and will never be—any forgiveness. No matter how many people around you offer it. What you’ve done is irrevocable and you’ll find no absolution.”

“Gee, thanks for making me feel so much better, Barrons,” I said, stung.

“You never make peace with some things. But, like an oyster, chafed by a grain of sand you can’t dislodge, eventually you polish it into something of value.”

“How could my murder of Jo and the others ever possibly become something of value?”

“It’s not the action that becomes the thing of value. It’s how you feel about the action that does. You find yourself doing something for another person you never would have done before. You pay it forward. It takes time. Relax. Live. Keep your eyes open. See what comes.”

Relax. Live. Keep your eyes open. See what comes. I smiled faintly. That was all any of us could do on a given day.

I locked gazes with him. You’re my sun—

Hush. You think I don’t know that? I have a bone to pick with you, Ms. Lane.

I arched a brow. Uh-oh. I was Ms. Lane. That was Barrons: the man of few words could get downright loquacious with his criticism. “What?” There was a note of truculence in my voice, but I’d had a rough twenty-four hours and I was tired.

There was a moment back there in the White Mansion. You didn’t move. I wouldn’t have minded if you had.

He opened his arms.

Truculence dissipated like a bubble bursting. When I bounded over the couch, sped across the bookstore, and flung myself into them, he caught me up and swung me around and I threw my head back, laughing just like a heroine in one of those romantic movies.

“Sun, moon, and stars,” he growled against my ear.