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Sirus let out a deep breath as he stroked her small hand with his thumb. He spoke to her in Persian. “I am sorry, Gwendolyn,” he told her for the thousandth time. She didn’t stir.
He watched her slumber. He craved to see her green eyes again, to see her smile, to hear her voice. Sirus pressed her hand against his chest and held it there. “I should have told you,” he admitted to her. He brushed his hand down the soft skin of her arm. Light scars remained where Nestra had carved the Dökk symbols into her flesh.
Sirus’s chest tightened. He kissed those scars as she’d kissed his. “I miss you,” he whispered against her skin. “Please, forgive me.”
Sirus wanted Gwendolyn to awaken more than anything, but he feared it just as much. He feared what it would mean.
What she’d remember.
What she wouldn’t.
It was quiet. Dark. Peaceful. Then there was a spark.
Gwen shot out of bed like she’d been shocked by lightning, jumping clear off the edge to fall into a crumpled heap on the floor.
She gasped in harsh gulps of cold air as her body vibrated and sizzled. No amount of blinking seemed to remove the blur from her eyes. Her ears pulsed and hummed. Everything felt—strange.
Things began to come into focus as she propped herself up on her hands.
Why was she on the floor? Had she had a nightmare?
It was the smell of tree and spice that grounded her. She looked up, blinking in the dim light, looking for the source. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Sirus stood at the edge of the room. The moment she saw him, her heart leapt, then fell.
She’d fallen out of bed right in front of him. Embarrassment blended with confusion. Why was he even here? And why was he looking at her like that?
Sirus started to approach her, his hands held out as if she were some feral animal. A flutter of anxiety rippled through her. She was still panting as she looked over herself. Had she grown a tail or claws or something? Gwen looked at her hands. Normal. There wasn’t a tail—thank heavens.
“Gwendolyn,” he said with caution. Actual caution.
“I just fell out of bed,” she grumbled, a little annoyed. He could have at least helped her up. “I’m not having a fit.” She dragged herself up off the floor and back to the edge of the bed. “You’re looking at me like I’ve sprouted horns.”
Wait. She touched the top of her head, trying to play it off like she was just running her fingers through her hair. Nope. No horns.
“What do you remember?” he asked, still keeping his distance.
Gwen blinked. Why was he being so weird? It wasn’t like anything had…happened.
Bits of memories flashed in erratic pieces. Gwen squinted under the strain and the dull ache that came with them.
Iathana and a field of purple flowers.
The snow falling in the forest.
Being mad at Sirus.
Seeing him—naked. Her cheeks flushed pink.
The memories started to take shape, but it was like they were just shards mashed together. She remembered pain and blue light. Blood and ash. A cold sweat spread over her, and Gwen’s chest grew heavy. She attempted to swallow the lump of air in her throat.
“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
She wasn’t wholly sure what’d been real and what hadn’t. If any of it was real.
Sirus came closer and, to Gwen’s utter shock, fell on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he told her, keeping his head down.
Gwen was shaken and confused by the raw display. “Why?” she asked in disbelief.
