Page 63 of The Bonds of Indigo

“Go to bed. I’ll get her.”

He nods, and we part ways as I follow the trail of her scent. It takes me no more than twenty feet to find her sitting in a small clearing. She’s wrapped in a blanket, head tilted toward the treetops. A break in the canopy lets a shaft of moonlight fall directly over her.

As I approach slowly—careful not to startle her—I notice her body held taut, utterly still. I don’t even see the rise and fall of her shoulders. The only indication she’s alive is the steady thrum of her pulse.

Stepping around her, I lower myself to sit cross-legged in front of her. Her lips are slightly parted, but she’s breathing evenly through her nose.

“Amarah?” I reach for the indigo thread, but hit a wall. It doesn’t feel like the one she usually throws up, but it’s just as strong. I’m not familiar enough with this bond to break through it. Not yet, at least.

“If they had taken my life… every single person would still have a beating heart, and I would have never known the agony of regret, the pain of unjustified punishment, and the taste of someone else’s sin.”

Her words have been on my mind for the past week. I want, so badly, to overthink them. But that’s admittance… right? She clearly said that if she were dead first, no one else would have died.

Right…

If only it were that easy. Because I can just as easily see it as her failing to save them. But why? I have so many questions, and she’s locked up tight.

She reminds me so much of Lucifer.

Stubborn, irritating… and so fucking beautiful.

Godsdamn them both.

A soft whimper slips from her lips as her chin drops toward her chest. Then, a single tear rolls down her cheek.

“Damn it…” Her whisper is thick with pain and regret, and I can’t help but feel bad for her. I shouldn’t—but fuck, it’s hard not to.

“Amarah?” I say it as low and gentle as possible, but it doesn’t matter.

Her eyes fly open and she jerks back, throwing off the blanket and preparing to scream. I lunge forward, clapping a hand over her mouth before she can.

“It’s just me.”

The quick movement leaves us in a very intimate position. She’s propped on her elbows, me hovering over her, one hand braced against the ground and the other still over her mouth. I’m close enough that her scent detonates through my senses.

For the briefest moment, her always-steady heartbeat quickens. And, in turn, so does mine.

“Can you see me?”

She nods quickly.

I release a heavy sigh and ease back, lifting my hand from her lips.

“What the shit, Butcher?!” she whisper-shouts, darting her gaze around the clearing. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

“What’re you doing out here in the middle of the night, sitting in the dark?” I’m not taking her scolding—this is dangerous. There are wild animals out here that could rip her to shreds.

She groans, narrows her eyes, and grabs the blanket again, wrapping it around herself. Not that she’s exposed—she’s wearing just as many layers as always. “I felt a pull, so I came to try and channel without… limitations.”

I hum. “Weren’t successful I take it.”

“Clearly.”

A strange urge to touch her washes over me, especially as she refuses to break eye contact. To distract myself from that idiotic idea, I ask, “Did you get any sleep?”

“I rarely do,” she says, shifting onto her knees. “Night, Butcher.”

“Wait.”