Page 37 of May: Bloom & Bane

“I don’t even remember my past,” I shout.

Something flickers across his face, but he smooths it over before I’m able to make out what it is.

“Hear me when I say this,” he says. “This house is living, and it will always shield Eden.”

“Shield her? From what?”

“From everything, Sage.”

He looks off in the distance, his jaw tightening as his hand twitches at his side.

“The world is a thief, little reaper. It steals what is yours the moment your back is turned, and it leaves you standing in the cold with nothing but a memory of a face that no longer knows yours.”

My wings pull tightly against my back.

“The house is a sanctuary. It will remember her when you cannot. It will hold her when the darkness in your blood tries to drive you away. Cherish the fact that she knows who you are today, Sage. Because some of us are not that lucky.”

“I will never leave her,” I spit. “There is nothing that could drive me away.”

A sad smile breaks across his face.

“I will return in the coming days,” he says. “Your power is a wild thing. It is the fertility of a thousand springs trying to burst through the ribcage of a corpse. If you do not learn to command it, it will command you.”

“Why do you keep calling me a reaper?”

He steps back, his translucent skin shimmering as the halo of leaves begins to spin faster.

“Because you are one.”

“I don’t trust you,” I murmur.

“Good.”

He turns to leave.

“One more thing, little reaper,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “War does not care for the slow crawl of romance. He is a storm that breaks what it cannot bend. When he arrives, he will look for the crack in your armor—the doubt you carry about who you were before the grave.”

My wings flare, a low hiss escaping my throat. “Who I was before I woke in the dirt is none of his business, and I will take true delight in relaying that message to him.”

“To War, your past is the only weapon he needs,” Therael warns. “He is coming to see if history will repeat itself. For your sake, little reaper… I hope it doesn’t.”

With a sudden gust of wind, he’s gone, and I am left with more questions than answers.

CHAPTER 16

what stays buried

—EDEN

Ican’t hear the words. But I can feel them through the door, and the vines Sage grew on the other side of it. His fear reaches me anyway.

It would be easier to focus if my own blood weren’t screaming for his.

Whatever his magic poured into the air, it didn’t leave when he did. It’s still in me—settled under my skin, patient as a banked ember—and every heartbeat fans it.

I press my forehead against the cool wood and try to breathe.

In. His fear, sharp and rising.