Echo (Black Lotus #2)(16)

Not wanting to get caught trespassing on private property, I do my best to hop up to my feet.

“Hey!” a man shouts at me, but my pounding heart that beats in my ears muffles him.

I slow my step and stop, cursing myself for being so foolish. Turning around, the man’s car door is open, and when he steps out, my lungs fill to the brink of their elasticity. Everything that’s been working so hard at keeping me alive soothes, and my hands fly to cover my mouth in utter shock and elation.

Oh my God.

Confusion and fear and anxiety swarm through my veins.

Everything stops.

Time stands still.

I can’t move, can’t blink, can’t breathe.

My eyes scan his figure as the seconds falter between us.

This isn’t real. You’ve been out in the cold for too long. You’re upset and hallucinating, Elizabeth. It isn’t real.

But he moves.

He’s alive! Oh, thank God, he’s alive, but how?

Something between a gasp and a cry rips out of me. I can’t help the thankful smile that grows on my lips that are hidden behind my hands, and I prepare to run to him. He’s alive and on solid ground, not buried in the dirt of the earth like I’ve believed this entire time. He’s whole and beautiful, and I need to cover him in my warmth just as much as I need him to cover me. To heal this suffering that’s been gnawing through my flesh and bone, straight into the fibers of my cells.

I breathe in holy relief as he steps away from the SUV.

“What the f*ck are you doing here?!”

I drop my hands, stunned beyond what I can comprehend as his harsh tone slays every piece of hope my foolish heart just resurrected.

“You’re real?” I question, but my words are barely audible under my panted breath. My pulse is turbulent, and I’m not sure if what I’m seeing really exists.

“You left me to die, you manipulative bitch!”

“No!”

No!!

My brain races to defend, to take away the hate that is utterly obvious in his eyes. His words are suffused in it, leaving them to poison me. A menace to once was.

“You lied.” His words come quick as rage boils behind his glare.

“No!” I grapple with words that I can’t seem to find in my state of shock. I want to ask him if he’s real again, but the venom on his tongue scares me into justifying my actions.

“You cunt!”

“Please, no! It wasn’t like tha—”

“What was it like then? Huh? Tell me what is was, Nina?” A knowing grin creeps upon his lips—evil—as he takes a step closer, but still much too far for me to touch. “Or is it Elizabeth? Who the hell are you?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur shamefully and then continue, “I don’t know who I am. I haven’t been me in a very long time.” My words are like knives carving pieces out of me. They hurt when I confess, “The only thing I know I am is yours.”

“Tell me I wasn’t your goddamn pawn!”

“This was never supposed to happen, Declan. Please—”

“What? You turning me into a murderer? That wasn’t your plan all along?”

“I love you. Please. You have to understand,” I plead against his wrath.

In three quick steps, his hands are on me, gripping my shoulders, swinging me around as if I weigh nothing, slamming me violently against the side of his car.

I can smell him, and suddenly, there’s no more pain. His fingers pierce into my flesh, bruising me instantly, and it feels like kisses on my skin. He yanks me closer towards him before smashing me back against the car again, seething through clenched teeth, “You’re a sick f*ck. Nothing but street trash.” He takes in a deep breath, and then adds, “That’s right. I know all about you and that punk kid you ran around with.”

“It wasn’t supposed to end like that,” I try convincing. “I fell in love with you.”

“End like what? Huh?”

“The way it did.”

His hands drop from my shoulders, and before I know it, he’s got his hand wrapped around my neck, choking, pinning me against the SUV, and I savor the heat of him against me.

“I killed your husband,” he snarls, beautiful breath bathing my face.

“I didn’t want that,” I gasp on strangled breath.

“What did you want?”

Looking up into his eyes, they’re blurred behind my welled tears when I tell him, “You.”

“I should kill you.”

My hands cling to his wrist, urging him to tighten his grip around my throat.

“Do it.” My words, an offering of atonement. “I’ve lost everything, and out of all that, you’re the only one I would have given up everything for just to have one last touch.” His grip weakens but his hand remains firmly in place, and when I watch our breaths unite in small clouds of vapor between our lips, realization crystallizes.

My God, he’s alive.

Letting go of his wrist, I reach up and run my hand along his stubbled jaw, and the comfort in the touch flays me entirely. A disgustingly raw sob erupts from my bleeding heart. I want to crawl inside of his skin and drown myself in his blood. I want to swim in his marrow.

“Don’t f*cking touch me,” he barks, wrenching my hand off of him.