Page 213 of Ashborne: Defiance

If he touched me it would hurt—because everything in me wanted that. But then I’d sink and he’d turn away again, and now I knew he didn’t want me. He was just driven to me. Against his will.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I squeaked through tears that embarrassed me further. “I’ll free you. For both of our sakes.”

He frowned. “What do you—”

“But let me be clear: You are the one who should be ashamed. You are the one who should regret this. I wanted you. I would have taken you with joy. I would have loved you.” My voice cracked.

Voski’s eyes widened and he stepped closer. “Grace, what—”

“I refuse you,” I whispered. A shriek of pain clenched my chest, but I gritted my teeth and plowed on. “I refuse it. The bond. The connection. All of it. I deny it—argh!” I cried out as pain sang through my bones.

“Grace—no!” he gasped, throwing himself at me as I fell to my knees, sobbing, choking on pain, and fear. I was on the grass, on all fours, when he reached me, sliding to his knees beside me, grabbing my shoulder, cupping my face.

But I pulled away. “D-don’t want your c-comfort when you wish you d-didn’t have to g-give it!”

“I was scared—I am scared. But I was trying to explain, not—”

The dragons screamed in the distance, and something awful tore at my heart.

Claws.

Talons.

The dragons—

I sucked in, grasping at my chest. My hollow, aching chest. It hurt.

“Grace! What are you doing?! Stop!” His hair fell down over eyes so wide they were white all the way around—and a whole new fear shrieked in them.

“I’m f-freeing you,” I mumbled, fingers clawing into the dirt because it felt like my heart was tearing from my ribs. My lips didn’t want to work properly. “No more torment for either of us. Koa says it will die. And we’ll be free. That’s what you wanted!”

“Grace, no. No!”

“Please, stop, Voski, I can’t do this any—”

“You can—we can! Grace, we will!” he rasped, then took my face in both his hands. He was panting, lips peeled back from his teeth, his breath tearing in and out of him. “I should never have said those things about begging God to take it away. They aren’t true—please, Grace. Don’t give up. Please.”

Our eyes locked and I couldn’t move. The pain in my chest, the sensation that I was slowly being torn in two, eased a hair as something warm and tentative threaded from under his palms, where my skin prickled, sinking into me, feeding through my veins, then rushed toward that aching chamber next to my heart.

“Grace, please?” He said my name like a plea, and the echo in his eyes, his dark, pained gaze, left me trembling.

“I’m scared,” I whimpered.

“Me too,” he breathed. “But I’ll get us through this. I promise.”

And when I didn’t respond, he kissed me.