Page 91 of The Blood Rites

“Why are you telling me this?” I finally ask, painfully aware of the terseness of our previous interactions.

Kael schools his features back into that unreadable expression.

“Because you keep doing the opposite,” he says. “You keep trying to save people. Even when they don’t want you to. Even when it’s hopeless.”

You robbed me of my choice.

“I’m not better than you,” I say.

He stares at me, and for a second, I think he might hit me, or worse, laugh at me. Instead, he just says, “Maybe not. But you’re not the same either.”

He rises and steps towards me. He is close enough that I can see the sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the edge of a swirl of black ink. I look up at him, unsure if I should retreat or reach for him. I do neither.

Kael moves even closer, until there is nothing between us but the faint, pulsing light leaking from the golden cracks in the ceiling above. He places his hand beneath my chin, tilting my face to look at him. He is so close that I’m momentarily lost in his eyes—pools of black, swimming with gold—and the way the shadows within them writhe as he studies me.

“I—” he starts, but his eyes flash with hesitation, maybe even fear.

“I don’t know why I care what happens to you,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper.

I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to. That I can take care of myself. But the lie refuses to form on my tongue.

I look at his hands, deadly and graceful, and I wonder what it would feel like to be touched by a man like this without fear. By my own choice. Unforced.

“Are you afraid?” he asks.

I huff a breath, not quite a laugh, and snap back to reality. “Always.”

“Of me? I mean.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly, painfully dry. “No,” I say.

The barest of smiles lifts the corners of his lips.

“You should be.”

I reach out, stupidly, and place my hand over his where it still rests under my chin. I don’t know why I do it. This is reckless.

He doesn’t pull away. His skin is cool and smooth, but beneath it I feel the slightest tremor, like he’s battling to keep still. It's as though he's afraid to move.

We stay like that for a moment, breathing the same air, the world reduced to this tiny speck of human contact.

Kael pulls away gently.

He stands in the centre of the room, looking at me like he is trying to memorise every detail.

Then he is gone.

I sit back down on the bed, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, the gold lines drifting into each other, forming a fragile web.

I try to calm my racing thoughts.

It doesn't work.

All I can think is:

What the fuck just happened?

Dinner is a morose affair. Everyone pretends to be whole when most of us are falling apart.