Page 53 of The Blood Rites

He doesn't answer, just watches me. His face is calm and unreadable.

The silence presses against my skull.

I try to relax my hands, unclenching fists that I don’t remember making. My body feels tense, struggling to shake the memory of violence. All the while, Kael sits there, a statue haloed in darkness.

He blinks, slowly. The black in his eyes spreads and retreats in slow pulses, like smoke trying to slip its way under a closed door.

We stay like this for a long time.

Neither of us looks away.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to be prey. To feel a predator watching and know that running might only trigger the chase. Terror presses heavily inside me, tangled with something far worse: awe.

Eventually, Kael stands, unfolding himself with practised grace. His movements are deliberate, and for a moment I think he might say something, answer my question perhaps, but he just walks to the door, places a hand on the knob, and looks back at me once.

The shadows around him writhe, as if reaching for me.

“Why didn't you protect yourself?” he asks, something vulnerable slips into his voice.

I don’t know how to respond. There is no singular answer.

I open my mouth to speak but close it again.

He sighs deeply, resigned, before he opens the door and steps into the corridor.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I am left alone.

Alive and well? Yes.

But lost.

The question follows me long after he leaves.

Why didn't you protect yourself?

Most inexplicably of all, my chest aches as though I've disappointed him.

Nine

I’ve retreated to my room to hide like the coward I am.

I curl up on the bed with my knees drawn tight to my chest while the soft hum of the Embrace fills the silence around me. Even with my eyes shut, the afterimage of the corridor light still writhes beneath my eyelids. I focus on my breathing instead, counting each slow exhale, willing my heart to settle.

It never does.

Every time I begin to calm, I remember Kael’s voice, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the rough drag of his fingers over my skin, and my thoughts unravel all over again.

The fissure in the ceiling catches my attention before I spiral too far. It looks larger now, angrier. Smaller fractures branch away from the centre line, thin veins of gold threading through the stone as though my lack of control is still infecting this place.

The crack pulses faintly while I stare at it, reminding me that I am not safe here. Not even from myself.

A soft knock breaks the silence and I flinch.

I don’t answer, but the door opens anyway. Marissa slips inside with hesitant movements, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her sleeve. She lingers near the doorway like she expects me to send her away, but I tilt my head towards the empty space beside me instead. Her expression softens with relief, and she crosses the room quietly to sit on the edge of the bed, our knees barely brushing.

Neither of us speaks at first. It’s strangely nice. Peaceful, almost. My mind is too tangled to survive conversation, and judging by the tension in her shoulders, hers isn’t much better.

“Luceris,” she says eventually, her voice so quiet I barely recognise it.