Page 64 of The Bonds of Indigo

“No,” she replies flatly. “Trying to channel has weighed on my body and mind. I need to lie down and at least try to get some rest.”

The moment she rises, so do I.

I tower over her, but she only stares up at me. “We need to discuss what you said to me last week.”

She just laughs and turns away.

“I won’t stop asking, little slayer.”

“And I won’t stop ignoring you.” She doesn’t look back, just keeps walking toward camp.

“You’re such a brat.”

“And you’re such a brute. Goodnight.”

Chapter 18

I’m an impulsive guy. That I can admit. Why in the Beyond would I hold back my feelings just to let them rot inside me? Bottling shit up only makes it worse.

Though… I do feel a little bad for the trees I’ve demolished over the last mile or so. I’m unsure of how many lay in ruin—I wasn’t counting due to my anger consuming every space available in my head.

It’s been over a month since I broke Amarah out of Thornegate, and we haven’t come across another gate since that first one. One did ping, but it was so far south we’d be beachside in Calysera. Even if I’d hauled both of them on my back and full-on ran, we still wouldn’t have made it in time.

So now we’ve spent weeks zig-zagging through Nevadia and Xerkz like this is some godsdamn scenic road trip. Atlas is being a good sport, though that’s mostly because he’s become best buddies with my little slayer.

Alright, it’s definitely a one-sided friendship.

Absolutely nothing has improved between her and me. If anything? It’s gotten worse. She’s completely shut me out. And I mean actually shut me out—barely speaks to me unless it’s the bare-minimum polite shit.

“Good morning, Butcher.”

“Goodnight, Butcher.”

That’s it. Nothing more.

It’s infuriating, but I know I’m part of the damn problem.

A delusional part of me thought this would be simple. That she’d just open the gates like flipping light switches, and I’d stroll right in, drag that damn Incubus back into this world, and tie his ass up exactly the way he likes it.

I’m going to ruin that throat and that ass again. Remind him exactly who he left.

“Uh… Kayn?”

At the sound of Atlas’s voice, I drag in a breath and turn toward him.

He stands ankle-deep in the carnage—shredded trees, ruptured earth, the faint metallic scent of blood. My blood. All of it. It doesn’t matter; the wounds are already gone. Physically, I’m fine.

My head and my godsdamn heart, though? Those are wrecked beyond repair right now.

When I’m not obsessing over getting to Lucifer, my mind keeps drifting to her.

One part of me wants to wring Amarah’s stubborn neck.

The other part…

I don’t even want to acknowledge what the other part wants to do with her.

It’s definitely because I haven’t fed in weeks. I can go longer—old as I am—but I don’t like to. Feeding is one of the few pleasures I indulge in, and when I go without it too long, I get… heightened. Irrational.