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Fucking Maxwell.
It all sent terror through me.
But, maybe. . .she is okay.
I tried to envision her enveloped in a cocoon of safety, but the darker thoughts kept creeping in. The concept of voodoo was foreign to me, and that was enough to terrorize my heart.
Would this strange, mysterious ceremony heal her fractured mind?
What if this ritual did more harm than good?
What if it altered her in ways we couldn’t have predicted or controlled?
The thought of losing the Emily I knew, the woman I loved in all her complex, multifaceted beauty, was unbearable.
And then, I pictured her delicate form, convulsing under the strain of the ritual, or worse, lying too still, too quiet like she was. . .dead.
I gritted my teeth.
The uncertainty was maddening.
What if this was a bad idea?
Could voodoo really mend the shattered parts of her psyche?
Or would it deepen the divide and leave her lost in a maze of her own identities?
Each possibility that flashed through my mind was more horrifying than the last.
I tried to cling to hope.
Tisha sighed.
I turned to him. “What?”
“You look scared.”
I pursed my lips and turned back to the window.
“It’s never good when the Lion is scared.”
“No?”
“Many people end up dying.” Tisha sighed again. “What can I do, cousin? Who can I kill for you?”
I shifted in my seat and kept my view on the moonlit swamp. The murky waters rippled, telling me that alligators or something else swam just below the surface.
“There’s no one to kill just yet, Tisha.”
“Then, what can I do to calm you?”
“Nothing.” I steadied my voice. “Love is like a gun.”
“A gun?”
“It’s powerful.” I turned my head and met his gaze. “Yet, it can lead to different outcomes depending on how you handle it.”
“I’ve never been in love, but that’s a dark way to look at it.” Tisha raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”
